DEMONS - Afterwards
by invisiblefriends
Summary: This was written before George Hale and is my only other completed X-FF. Please overlook any medical inaccuracies . Hope you enjoy. Spoilers: Demons, Elegy
1. Chapter 1

This was written before George Hale and is my only other completed X-FF. Please overlook any medical inaccuracies . Hope you enjoy.

**DEMONS - Afterwards**

**Spoilers: Demons, Elegy**

**CHAPTER 1**

The sound of footsteps, almost in sync, grows louder before they come to a complete stop. Someone calls her name. Detective Curtis, followed by two of his officers, stops in the doorway of the dark room and asks if she is all right; if Agent Mulder is all right.

"We're fine," Scully replies, her voice trembling. She lifts her head from Mulder's back. His shirt is damp from sweat. And he is shaking.

She tugs an old blanket from a chair and carefully spreads it across his shoulders. "Is there an ambulance outside?"

Curtis nods, watching Mulder carefully. "Called one just in case."

"Have them come in."

Curtis repeats the request into his radio. He asks Scully if she needs help with Mulder.

"We're fine." She repeats and pulls the blanket tightly around Mulder.

When she stood in front of him, terror in her eyes, Mulder could feel his strength vanishing. He watched her quietly move around him, never taking her eyes off him. His memories flashed in front of his eyes for the last time and he fired seven times until they disappeared forever.

And then it was over.

He didn't hurt her. She didn't let him hurt himself.

Mulder just nods when Scully tells him they are going to the hospital. He doesn't protest when two attendants bring the stretcher into this room where he almost ended his life, and maybe Scully's. He has absolutely nothing left as he sits down on the side of the gurney and lets one of the attendants ease him down onto his back.

Scully stands to the side. The Doctor in her is clawing to take over but only the Agent succeeds. As she follows them out of the house, she flashes her badge and tells the attendants that she will be riding in the back with them. She is terrified Mulder will have another seizure and that if she is not inches away he will die. It is irrational, she knows this much, but right now - zapped with fear, buried by exhaustion - she is not going to take any chances.

"Immediate family?" the attendant asks automatically.

"Yes. No. I'm his partner."

There is just enough confusion in this reply to make the attendant think she means the domestic kind. He has learned not to press the issue.

"Of course, ma'am," the older attendant says as he helps his partner lift Mulder into the ambulance. He has seen worried relatives before. This one isn't any different, except maybe that she is packing heat and a badge. The fear in her eyes is as clear as any other frightened loved one. "Your partner is going to be fine."

Scully is dizzyingly grateful for this reassurance. The paramedic sees the man in the stretcher for who he is; not an out of control, homicidal, discombobulated FBI agent, but simply a man in distress. And when Mulder has a seizure in the ambulance it brings Scully a second wave of relief. For once, it won't be Scully's word against the world. Now, she has a witness.

Mulder and Scully were here nearly eight hours ago. By the time Scully climbs out of the ambulance, it might as well be eight days. The neurologist they saw before has left for the day but a second neurologist is waiting for them on the third floor.

Mulder, aware of where he is and why he is there, reaches over and finds Scully's arm. When she leans in towards him, he whispers, "Go home, Scully." This is his first full sentence since the cottage. He wants to sound normal, back in control, telling Scully what to do. Even he isn't buying it.

She does not remind him that home is a long drive away. "I'll go soon. I have to fill out some paperwork here. I'll be up to see you in a few minutes. And Mulder – please do what they ask you to do."

Their first visit was full of second-guessing from a dazed, confused and irritable patient whose agenda was to identify a murderer – himself, if necessary. The same patient, at this moment, is simply used up.

She watches the bottoms of Mulder feet disappear behind the closing elevator doors and wonders what is going through his head right now; wonders what is going through her own. Scully is suddenly so tired, so physically and mentally drained. She barely has it in her to get Mulder's information correct on the admitting form.

Scully signs the bottom and slides it across the desk to the nurse. "Neurology?" she asks.

The nurse plucks the pen out of Scully's hand. "Third floor. Same as this morning."

Wise-ass.

Scully finds a couch in a waiting area down the hall from Neurology. She is tired and the moment she lies down on her side and closes her eyes, every little detail of her future swirls through her brain. She should call Skinner and let him know one of his agents will not be in the office for the immediate future.

More unintentional planning slips in because Skinner should know everything; he should have the details of _Everything Mulder,_ for _When I'm not here_. It isn't until this moment that she realizes that she has been doing a lot of this lately, making a mental list of, _Things To Deal With_ _Before_...

"Agent …. Agent …."

A strange rocking motion begins in her shoulder.

"…Agent Scully."

She opens her eyes and bolts up. She has been sound asleep on the word's grungiest couch. "Yes. What – Oh..."

Detective Curtis is towering over her, his hands in his coat pocket, and he looks appropriately awkward. "Sorry to wake you."

She jumps to her feet, and tries to pull herself together. It shouldn't matter but the old habits force her hand to check that her hair is in place. Stupid. Useless. Like all of this is.

"That's all right – what's – is it Mulder?"

"No, no. I haven't heard anything yet. I –" He is looking at her with that same quizzical expression. "Are you all right, Agent?"

She hates this look. Mulder occasionally uses it. It means she is letting something show. "Yes. Fine. What can I do for you?"

"Oh. I'm on my way home - thought you should know Doctor Goldstein is on suicide watch at the prison."

_Good,_ she wants to say_. It will save the rest of the poor, lost souls out there_. "I take it he will be pleading guilty."

"If he's smart. We'll need you and your partner back here in a couple of months when it comes to trial. I can reach you both at the FBI?"

The immediate future - this is what scares her. Will she even be here for it?

_Of course_, she tells him convincingly. _We'll be available._

He clears his throat and looks down for a second. "I hope there are no hard feelings about today. Bringing in your partner."

"No. Mulder would be the first to understand."

"Good." He nods towards the hallway. "He really didn't have a clue, did he?"

"None of them did. That's the tragedy."

"There are a few other suicides we'll be following up. Former patients of Goldstein. Your partner was lucky you were there today."

"He's just stronger than most, that's all." She knows this is a humble piece of crap. They are always lucky that one of them is there when the other needs them.

Scully glances at the clock over the couch. She has been asleep for two hours and it feels like ten minutes. Time has been playing tricks on her since she was diagnosed. Weeks seem like days, night times seem like months. Waiting for test results seems like years.

A week ago, she and Mulder had barely been speaking. Her own demons came out to play and she wasn't up to sharing them with Mulder or herself. He admitted that he was as scared for her as she was but neither of them had been able to get past that fear. Instead, short, angry words were said in that corridor and bouts of uncomfortable silences had been hovering ever since.

Five days later, Scully's illness and Mulder's helplessness have all but been forgotten.

She absently brushes her finger against an invisible speck under her nose. Her finger is covered in blood.

_Damnit,_ she growls under her breath as she goes through every empty pocket in her coat with one hand and tries to stop the blood with the other. She knows never to be without Kleenex every time she leaves the house but this morning she flew out at five fifty-eight and grabbed the first jacket she found; the one with no pockets.

"Are you all right?"

A passing intern pulls out a handful of tissues from a box and stuffs them into her hand.

"I'm fine," comes the muffled answer "Thank you."

This one doesn't seem like it will be as big as the recent nose bleeds. She has become expert in quietly excusing herself and waiting for the gush to end without Mulder suspecting anything. Just cleaning up, she will tell him when she returns to the office, or strolls out of a bathroom.

The intern is still standing in front of her. She wishes he would go; there is too much stress to have to convince a concerned stranger that she is not about to keel over and die. Not yet, she thinks distastefully.

She hears whispers – the intern is talking to someone.

"Agent Scully?"

It is the Dr. Addison, the neurologist. She is standing with her arms folded, looking down at Scully as if she is a puzzling trig problem.

"I'm fine," Scully repeats, fumbling with her Kleenexes as she tries to stand up at the same time.

"Sit," the doctor says and gently pushes her shoulder back down. She takes the seat next to her. "Air in here is very dry; keeps the tissue company in business."

Scully sits up straight. Most of the bleeding is stopping. Her pride is slipping away just as fast. "How is Agent Mulder?"

"Tests came out negative except for some expected activity; We need to see what happens in the next couple of hours to know what kind of damage we're looking at. Given how the other folks people ended up, I'd say he is doing pretty well. He is lucky you were there."

This is not what she wants to hear, especially for the second time.

A voice barks over the loudspeaker for Dr. Addison in emergency. She gets up quickly and takes a long look at Scully from above. "Are you sure you're all right, Agent? You look a little pale."

"I always look like this," she offers but that is all she is going to give away. All that anyone needs to know is that she is in a dry building. "Can I see him?"

The voice from the intercom calls again. Dr. Addison looks at the intern. "Have Dr. Callum look at her," she orders as he disappears from view.

"I'm fine," Scully tells the man waiting in front of her. She hopes she sounds firm about this. Too much attention is on her right now.

"If you come this way, Ma'am," the intern says helpfully

"No – I don't need to …. I just need to see my partner," she whispers because that's all the fight she has left right now.

The intern seems to understand this plea because he takes her by the arm and directs her into room 3A and softly closes the door behind her.

Scully draws the chair as close to the bed as she can. Despite the machinery he is hooked up to, Mulder is sleeping soundly. This might be due to medication or maybe something inside him that has told him enough is enough.

A week ago, she walked away from him in the corridor of the New Horizon Psychiatric Center and he hadn't followed. She thought her life couldn't have become more complicated at that moment and now, she's just proven herself wrong. It can and it has.

Scully draws her knees up and rests her head on them. She closes her eyes and, lulled by the steady beep of the heart monitor, drifts quickly to sleep.

**END OF CHAPTER 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Mulder is in a four-bed room. The only other patient is behind a closed curtain. An older man with a baseball cap with _Indian Motorcycle_ splashed across the front, sits vigil, his hunched form visible from the small opening between the curtains.

Scully is in the washroom cleaning up after a small nosebleed. She makes damn sure there is no trace of it because she knows that Mulder misses nothing, disoriented or not. Quietly, she opens the bathroom door as the sound of a flushing toilette follows her out. Another trick she has found. When in a bathroom for a nosebleed, always flush the toilette so that nobody gets suspicious.

She is caught off guard by the sight of Mulder. His eyes are opening and he is looking straight at her. She takes the three steps from the bathroom door to the bed and rubs his shoulder softly. "Mulder – come on – Time to open up your eyes. Rise and shine."

_Wake Up Time_. One of the songs he uses to annoy her when she starts to doze during one of their long car rides. But Mulder always pronounces it, _Rise. And Shine._

Carefully, he looks up and sees a dingy, cream coloured ceiling. He knows where he is just by the smell. Hospital disinfectant is the same in every hospital in every city. But that is all he knows. He has a terrible headache, the kind that makes hangovers feel like nothing. He also knows he has something to do with the reason that her voice sounds so unsteady. Something happened. There was light and noise and the feeling that he was drowning while she tried to pull him back. He knew neither of them would made it.

As he carefully turns his head, he is relieved to see she is smiling at him, beaming. This is what an answered prayer looks like.

"How are you feeling?"

"Headache kills," he whispers and stares up at the ceiling. There are so many things swirling around in his head, some of them true, some of them imagined. He thinks he found his sister in a playground but even that much is unclear. "What's going to happen to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I killed those people."

"No, you didn't, you-" It only takes her a second. "Mulder, you didn't kill them. Detective Curtis and I proved it."

"When?"

"Yesterday." Short term memory loss. She was told to expect this, but she didn't expect it would frighten her so much. "It's okay, Mulder, you didn't -"

"I didn't even know them, Scully. Why did I do that?"

"You didn't. It was a murder-suicide. " She doesn't know if he is registering this or not. His eyes still won't leave hers. "You've still got the hallucinogenic in your system, its normal that you don't remember much. But they want to do some tests, just to make sure …."

He clears his throat nervously. "… Brain damage?"

"They won't know yet. The medication in your system is still active and it's what's adding to the activity in your brain. That's why you've been having the seizures."

"Did I have any more?"

She holds up two fingers. "Since we got here. And you'll probably continue to experience them, just with lessening intensity."

There are no brilliant words to come to his mind, so he can only say, "I'm sorry." They both know this covers more ground than he could possibly cover right now. "I just wanted this to be over. Now it feels like I've lost her all over again."

"Mulder, don't."

"I thought if I had some more answers – that if I didn't try this I would lose her for good. Sometimes the answers seem so close. Sometimes – most times – so far away."

And this is what she is afraid of. Mulder losing hope. Mulder giving up. Mulder finding a room away from the rest of the world, where nobody can hear a single gunshot. But she shakes this thought out of her head. She needs to give him more credit when these scenarios creep from the back of her mind to the front.

"I know I scared you," he says.

"Yes, you did." There is almost contempt in her voice. "Don't ever do anything like that again."

"I won't." He closes his eyes again. They are too heavy to keep open. "Does Skinner know about this?"

"I'll think of something to tell him. He doesn't have to know."

She should leave it at that, but she doesn't. Timing is not her forte these days. Hasn't been for a while. "Was finding those memories – ones you'll never know if they belong to you – worth this? Putting your body through all of that?"

"I need to know."

"No. Not at that cost. You can't do things like that anymore, Mulder. Not for your sister. Not for anybody."

The words barely stay in her mouth.

_Because the next time, I may not be here to find you_

The motel room is as disorganized as they had left it almost over 24 hours ago. Scully shuts the door behind her and sits down on the end of the bed, almost numb from the day. Her eyes drift to the carpet where Mulder woke up over twelve hours ago. There are splashes of blood on the sheets, the bed cover. She is so tired that she flops down on the bed, fully dressed. She is sound asleep in seconds.

She dreams she is in a shopping mall, trying to find Mulder's lost wallet.

She wakes up four hours later. It is still dark outside as she rolls over and tries to read the time on the clock radio. It blinks 0623. She will shower and make two phone calls she doesn't want to make. Only one of them will be simple. The other will involve a little finesse.

Scully gets the easy one out of the way first. It is too early for mother to be up, but if Scully doesn't call her now, she will have too much on her mind to remember later. She is going to have reschedule her tests, she tells her mother after reassuring her that nothing is wrong. Scully's mother has had enough early morning phone calls not to panic when the phone rings at six-thirty.

"Mulder got sick on a case," she explains. "He's in the hospital. I won't be back in town until tomorrow at the earliest."

This is not what Mrs. Scully wants to hear. She has booked time to go with her daughter to a series of tests and doesn't want to know that these tests are going to have to be postponed.

"I can't leave him, Mom," she half lies.

"Then I'll come down and stay with him and you come here and get those tests over with. You can't delay them much longer, Dana."

"I know, I know."

Lord, does she know.

"Have you spoken to Fox about your decision?"

"No. It's been a bit … crazy."

"He needs to know soon."

"I can't tell him now; he's in no condition to hear anything."

Silence on the other end. She knows the face her mother is making. Mrs. Scully has heard this excuse too many times. Mulder, for her daughter, is like the preverbal married man who will not leave his wife for his lover. And the other woman is always left to make the excuses, pretend to draw the lines, explain to the others why her life is the way it is.

Her mother's quiet voice finally returns to the line. "Is he all right?"

"He's been having seizures."

Mrs. Scully knows Mulder is prone to unusual illnesses and would like to know he is okay. It is not a maternal instinct she has towards him – he has his own mother and Mrs. Scully has her own children. "Let me know how he is."

The Skinner phone call is a tougher nut. She has called his office in hopes of leaving a message. Messages are always the safer way to make sure you have enough time to get the story straight.

But Skinner answers on the second ring.

_Shit_.

She tells him, truthfully, that Mulder has been admitted to a hospital, out of town.

"Are you on a case? There is no 302 or authorization."

No, she tells him. They are not on a case.

"Then what are you doing out-of-town _together_?"

_Shit-Shit. _

Mulder got sick and called me for advice, she half-lies. This is all she has intended to say. But there is unusual concern in Skinner's voice as he asks if Mulder is okay that sets Scully's conscience in the other direction.

She blurts out everything from the five am phone call to the ambulance ride to the hospital.

She almost has herself believing that this is the right thing to do; Mulder's arrest was processed through channels and this is going to reach Skinner's ears sooner or later.

"It was a misunderstanding," she underplays, absently holding the phone away from her ear and wincing as she speaks. She hates lying. She is not good at it and everyone knows this. "Yes, Sir. Probably not until end of this week. … Yes, I'll see that he goes through the proper channels…. Yes, Sir, I'll tell him. Goodbye."

Bullet dodged.

Skinner is pissed and he will want the full story when Mulder returns to work. But he has not made any unreasonable demands. "Keep me appraised," is all he has requested.

Dinner is brought at five o'clock. Mulder is sitting up in bed, picking at a small tub of jello as if it is about to explode in his face. He almost wishes it would, and then he would have a valid excuse for not eating it. The rest of the dinner isn't much better. He deserves it though. He landed himself in here; he'll have to put up with the crappy food.

He woke up thirty minutes ago to an empty, depressing room. Even the mysterious roommate has disappeared. Memories have been filtering back, out of order and fuzzy. What he knows for certain is that his last chance to find out what happened to his sister is gone. He's not ready to deal with that yet. There are a lot of things he is not ready to deal with yet.

The door opens. It is not someone to take his blood, or wheel him to x-ray. It's Scully and she looks much better than she did this morning.

"Just in time," he says, waving the bowl of jello in the air. It is the best attempt at humour he can manage right now. He feels like shit. He feels beyond sad.

"Gee, thanks." The rails have been lowered and she sits on the side of his bed. "Well, at least you're looking better."

He only shrugs.

"Are you up to some questions?"

Another shrug.

"What do you remember about yesterday?"

He is cautious about how to answer her casually posed question. _So how was your day? So what do you think of the Mets chances? So why the hell did you almost kill the both of us?_ This is the question he dreads the most because there is no suitable answer in the world for what he did.

She tries again. "Waking up yesterday morning in your hotel room?"

He shakes his head.

"Going to your mother's?"

"I went to my mother's?"

"You wanted to – never mind, it will keep. Your neurologist thinks you should be clear to leave tomorrow morning. And yes, we both know you can sign yourself out any time you please, but that's not going to happen."

He is used to a general bossy streak to this woman but this time there is something more to the statement. Justice has been stewing in her head and is ready to be served.

She looks at him oddly. "Mulder? You okay?"

He would like to tell her that he isn't; why he isn't. But now isn't the time. "Just tired." He gently touches a fresh Band-Aid on the inside of her elbow. "What'd you do?"

She quickly jerks her arm away. "Nothing."

"Scully." His finger is on her arm again and he doesn't intend to remove it until he gets an answer.

"I had some blood work done. Did you pack any other clothes than what you had on yesterday?" she asks, looking around the room.

"I don't know."

"I'll pick you up somethings."

She is about to stand up but he pulls her back down by the wrist and asks unexpectedly, "Did you call me or did I call you on Friday?"

There is something odd about this question and the way he has asked it. As if he remembers that they have been barely speaking for the last several weeks.

"I called you."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"To tell you I wouldn't be in office for a few days."

"Why?"

She is getting antsy. "Why did I_ tell_ you?"

"No, why were you going to be away from the office for a few days?"

"Personal time."

"Oh. What kind?"

"Remember taking a day off for personal time, Mulder? I'm sure you must have done this once in your life. Weekends? Federal Holidays? Religious Holidays? Any of this familiar?"

He enjoys sarcasm from her, he always does, but he sees past it as usual. "What kind of things, Scully."

"Things. It's nothing important."

He nods at her arm. "Tests like that?"

She sits back and glares at him. Her sweater is across the room and she should have remembered to put it on. Even half-baked, Mulder misses nothing. "Yes," she sighs tightly. "I needed to have some blood work done. I arranged to do some of it here and have the results sent to my doctor."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes tiredly. "That takes two days out of work?"

Christ, she could strangle him right now. He is starting her down with those dark eyes that won't let you go until you cough up every iota of information they know you have hidden in the attic.

"I had some other tests scheduled."

"What kind?"

"Mulder… I don't want to do this now. We can talk about me later. Right now, there are some things I need to talk to you about."

He deposits the bowl of jello back on the tray and swings the tray away from his sight. His head is hurting and the thought of jello _and_ an on-coming argument with Scully is making him nauseated.

"What's wrong?" she asks, almost accusingly.

"Nausea."

"Are you seriously going to be ill or do you just not want to talk to me right now?"

"Both."

She puts her hand on his forehead. "You're a little warm. Has anyone taken your temperature?"

He shakes his head.

This figures. Too much is riding on him getting out of here as soon as possible. If he comes down with a fever, she will have to do more rescheduling. She has already spent an hour on the phone with the oncology department trying to reschedule the series of tests that was scheduled for this afternoon.

"Has anyone spoken to you about what happens when you leave here?"

"Yeah," he whines sharply. "I'm supposed to keep sharp instruments away from my head."

"I'm not joking. There are some things you should expect."

Her voice is deadly serious. There is no bedside manner here. She has him very nervous. "Like what?" he asks cautiously.

"Headaches for a while, possible short term memory loss." She looks at him carefully. "Are you getting the idea, Mulder?"

He nods.

She crosses her legs in her best_, don't you dare screw with me _pose. "People can also have bouts of depression and suicidal thoughts."

They both know she is dancing around a subject never discussed between them; Mulder's state of Mental Health. She has never asked, he has never offered.

"If you experience any of these symptoms you need to tell me."

"Okay," he agrees. "If I can't stop weeping during a dog food commercial, you'll be the first person I call."

She stands up and stares down at him. "Mulder, this isn't funny. None of this is funny. You need to tell me."

"So they can lock me up?" He tilts his head back on the pillow so that all he can see is a very indifferent ceiling. "You're always the only one I'd call, Scully," he tells her quietly. "You don't need to worry."

"Maybe I think I do. You put a gun to your head, Mulder. For the second time. And you were going to use it."

"But I didn't."

_This is so much bigger that what you did and didn't do_, she wants to scream. Bigger than holding a gun to your head. It is every little thing in between, and after. His own quest is going to be the end of him.

"I've seen you go into these black places, Mulder. I think maybe you could be there now." She hesitates, giving him a chance to speak for himself. Instead he just shrugs. "If you think you are heading there again you have to tell me." She has never told him that she has always suspected he has suffered from clinical depression. He has always come out of them in his own way, and time. But one day - one day he may not find his way.

She delivers the final blow, "You'll be out of the field for at least a month."

"Skinner can't do that!"

"No, but I can. I'm a doctor with access and authorization to your medical records. While you're still susceptible to this brain activity, you can't work in the field. Period. This doesn't have anything to do with Skinner. This is _my_ call."

"Christ, Scully, if this is your way at getting back at me, fine, just get something a little less personal."

"This isn't personal, Mulder."

Mulder uses both arms to push himself up to a sitting position. He is out of breath by the time his back rests against the pillows. They have had their issues before but she has never ambushed him like this. He stares her in the eye. "What's going on here, Scully?"

"Nothing's going on here except that I'm trying to tell you some facts you don't want to hear."

"No, this isn't about me. It's about you - Shit –" A sharp pain zaps through his skull; his head drops into his hands.

"Mulder-"She takes one of his hands and waits this out with him. She has forgotten, in twenty-four hours, this is how it is supposed to be. She is supposed to help him; not rip his heart out by telling him is grounded.

"Are you having any flashbacks?" she asks calmly, rubbing his back.

His head shakes, no.

"Just the pain?"

A slow nod. The grip he has on her hand eases.

He slowly lifts his head away from his knees.

Scully props two pillows and carefully lies him down. "This is why I don't want you out in the field until you know they have ended for good."

_Don't start_, he thinks, trying to get his brain back together. He doesn't want to argue with her. He doesn't think either of them can handle the stress. They are two mentally unarmed people swinging theoretical bats at the other.

The door opens. A nurse walks in with a tray of things Mulder doesn't like the look of. "I need to draw some blood."

"What did you tell Skinner?" By the tone of his voice, he already knows the answer. He doesn't take his eyes from Scully, who has begun to edge towards the door.

"I'll go pick up those things for you," Scully says.

"You told him, didn't you?"

"Sir, will you please stay still."

Mulder gives up. He is staring at Scully, ignoring the nasty process that is going on in his arm. He will wait this out for as long as the nurse takes. Finally, she leaves.

They allow for a moment of pre-battle silence once the door smoothly glides shut.

"You said you wouldn't tell him."

_I lied, _she wants to blurt out_._ It feels like a desertion. _The only person you trust to not lie to you has just lied to you_. "I was wrong to promise that."

"Anything else you've decided for me since I've been in here?"

_Plenty,_ she wants to blurt out. But she won't. Ambushes are not her style, at least not yet.

"No."

"What is going on with you?" Mulder asks sharply.

"Besides dying of cancer, you mean?"

And, knowing this is about the cruelest thing she could do to him right now, Scully swings the door open and leaves him alone in this hospital room.

She spends an hour in a bookstore, looking for medical magazines, journals, _anything_ to fill the endless evening ahead. An hour later - fed up with herself, Mulder, life in general - she leaves with a copy of_ People_ and _Celebs Magazine_.

Two women – they couldn't be much younger than she is - were going through every magazine with a celebrity plastered across the cover. It took them forty minutes just to go through the first shelf. Scully, on the opposite side of the stand, was listening to their conversation back and forth as she attempted to decide her own reading material.

She has not read this kind of magazine for years and, as she lies on the hotel bed, she understands why people devour these things. It is damn comforting to get lost in someone else's crap; crap way more glamorous than her own.

She left the hospital shaking. It took her fifteen minutes to gather herself together enough to drive. If life is beginning to catch up to her, it is choosing a really crappy time to do it. She tries to figure out what happened today, why she snapped at him. When one of them is broken the other steps up; not hiss something terrible and storm out of the room. That isn't the way they worked but now, they are both in so many pieces, she isn't sure there is enough glue to put them back together again.

Mulder is due to be released, for better or worse, into her custody. She has made several promises on Mulder's behalf. He must see a neurologist within the next day or two; he must have blood work done in three days to check on meds. Finally - and this is suggested in the most delicate of terms - he might want to find someone professional to talk to about what led him to do this.

Scully smiles despite herself. What led Mulder to have a whole drilled into his head, and administering a near fatal dose of a drug?

_I'll suggest that to him_, was all she could come up with for that last suggestion. Once upon a time, she might have been that person to talk to, professional or not. Sometimes, In their oddly incommunicative yet supportive moments, she would test the waters to see if he wanted to talk. Now, she didn't think he would ever speak to her again.

Fate sealed, she couldn't help thinking. She and Mulder are stuck with each other.

_Shit_ _shit, shit._

**END OF ****CHAPTER 2**


	3. DEMONS - Afterwards CH 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Scully gently tosses a Wal-Mart bag onto Mulder's bed. He picks it up and pulls out the contents one at a time. A razor, deodorant, toothbrush, tooth paste, two-pack of underwear, a grey t-shirt and a bag of sunflower seeds.

"Thanks," he says, reaching for the seeds

"No problem."

He picks up the Haines. "Extra large - good choice."

Mulder-humour to battle the tension as he tries to open the bag of seeds. She gives him a half smile – it is all she can manage right now - and holds up a form. "Fill out this and we can go."

He finally gets the bag open. A shower of seeds cascades into the air and down onto the bed. "Do you still have my motel room?" he asks, picking up the seeds and dropping them back into the bag.

"Yes. You can shower and change there." She pulls out a wad of prescriptions and waves them like a flag of surrender. "We can get your meds on the way out."

"All those?"

She is tempted to remind him that it was his stupidity that has saddled him with, _'all those'_. And since he is the one who is going to have to take them, he should be quiet. Especially, since Scully's daily regimen of pills is twice as bad.

An hour later, Mulder slowly climbs into the passenger seat and adjusts his seatbelt. The bag of goodies is on his lap. He is holding folded photocopies of his hospital paperwork in his hand.

Scully gets in, adjusts the seat and puts her seatbelt on. She looks at him. "What's wrong?"

He realizes he is rubbing his forehead. She is going to be looking for any signs of anything from now on, he realizes.

"Headache."

The drive to the motel takes fifteen minutes. Neither of them says a word. Mulder tilts his head against the headrest and gazes at the crappy weather they drive through, the gray buildings and people and cars. He catches himself thinking, _now what?_

Now what.

She enters their motel room first and throws her coat onto the bed. She nods towards the bathroom. "Shower's all yours."

He stands there, not at all sure what is supposed to happen here. She is a mystery when she needs to be.

"Scully-"he begins when he realizes she is not going to give him any help.

"Shower, Mulder. I'm fine."

He doesn't believe it for a minute. "Sure."

She waits until the bathroom door is closed and the shower starts running before she sits down on the bed and buries her face in her hands.

How in the hell did it come to this, is all she can think.

Mulder doesn't feel much better than before – his headache is worse today. And he feels hopeless. His sister is gone. His last chance at remembering what happened is gone. He thinks he has a fever but he'll have to keep this from Scully too. He showers, shaves and changes in the bathroom so that there is nothing un-presentable about him when he emerges wearing the new underwear and the t-shirt Scully brought. Most men would be embarrassed about his female partner having to buy him underwear but he and Scully passed the 'unmentionables' phase long ago, due to various medical emergencies they have seen the other through. He even knows what feminine products she uses because he once had to find an all-night pharmacy in Rochester when she had a very unexpected visitor, complete with cramps.

"Bathroom's free if -" He stops just short of the bed. His partner is lying on her side on the far side of the bed facing the window. He is not sure but he thinks he can hear a faint trace of snoring. He tiptoes to the other side for a better look. Her mouth is open just a little. She is sound asleep.

"Scully," he whispers kindly. There is a spare blanket on top of the dresser. As delicately as he can, he spreads it open and covers Scully from shoulders to toes.

She is the person closest to him in the entire universe, he allows himself to think as he tucks a corner of the blanket under her legs; this woman he cares so much for. No wonder he cannot deal with her future or his past. There is way too much to lose.

A cell phone begins to ring. Mulder does a fast circle to find where it is coming from. He realizes he has not seen his cell phone since he left Washington. The ringing continues and he tracks it to Scully's bag, resting at the door.

He grabs the bag, ducks into the bathroom and closes the door. There are two cell phones in the bag. One of them – the ringing one – is his.

"Mulder," he carefully whispers, pulling out the bundle of prescription bottles tied together with an elastic band for a better look. They have Scully's name on each.

"Fox?"

His heart stops. Scully's mother. She only calls when something is wrong with Scully. Then, he remembers that the subject of this fear is asleep in the next room. He jams the medication back into the bag and sits down on the toilet seat.

"Mrs. Scully?"

"Yes – I'm sorry, I didn't want to call your phone, but Dana's is shut off."

"Oh. Probably – uh, do you want me to get her? She's sleeping but I could-"

"No, let her sleep," Scully's mother interrupts. "She's needed it more these days."

A simple observation but Mulder hasn't been paying attention to much more than his own dissociative, self-destructive self for the past few days. "Yes," he says. "She has."

"How have you – have you found her energy level the same?"

"Dana's been working hard. I'm afraid I'm the reason she's here now."

There is silence. "I'm sorry, Fox, I'd forgotten to – how are you feeling?"

He leans back against the tank, wondering how much Scully told her mother; how much Scully ever tells her mother about him. He knows she trusts him with Dana; that is enough. What else she knows about him is painful speculation on his part.

"Fine, thank you. Just the headaches left over."

"Dana was very worried about you."

Shit, he thinks.

"Do you know if she was able to reschedule her appointments? That's what I was trying to call her about. I was going to go with her to some of them."

"Them?" Scully had mentioned 'tests' - plural. Single appointment, multi tests, is what he suspected. "Uh, no, I don't know…."

"That's all right. I can ask her when she gets home. She'll be home tomorrow?"

Mulder nods, a useless gesture given Mrs. Scully is not in the room. He winces as he fumbles for the truth "I think so. We are still in Rhode Island. I can have her call you when she wakes up."

"Thanks, Fox, that would be fine."

He still is not reading any irritation in her voice. There should be some. There should be a lot. He has kept Dana from more than one test this week, for which she had to ask her mother to accompany her. Why the hell hasn't Scully asked him to go with her?

"Fox . . . " Mrs. Scully's voice is unusually tentative. "You know – well, I hope you know ..."

Again, Mulder knows what she is going to say and he deserves to hear it. He has caused her daughter enough grief but missing tests, this is too much even for them.

Mrs. Scully gathers her words. "I hope you know that if you ever need help, as you did this weekend, and Dana wasn't there – or too tired – or for whatever reason . . . I hope you would always call me."

And when he's sure no one can get to him, someone smiles and it goes right through him. His voice crumbles a little despite his best efforts. "Uh – I would, Mrs. Scully. Thank you."

"Tell Dana I called."

Softly, Mulder presses the off button. He is sitting on a motel toilet staring at a cell phone. A hunch makes him reach into the purse for Scully's phone. He picks it up and looks at the charge. It is on. It always has been on.

He doesn't know what just happened here but it may have had something to do with simple kindness and an extra lifeline that has just been tossed to him. He leans forward, his shoulders shaking as he comes undone. Again.

Scully dreams that she is in that shopping mall again, the one where she lost Mulder's wallet, with all of his money and both of their plane tickets. The dream is like the first one, only there are more floating bodies to wade through before she can find the Lost and Found office - except the Lost and Found turns out to be a hospital ER. Nobody has seen Mulder's wallet here, either. She begins to back out of the emergency room but her back keeps hitting the wall. Again. And Again.

She jumps out of her sleep up with a frightened start, as if someone has crept up from behind and put a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Jesus," she breathes, sitting up and realizing she is not in an ER or a Mall.

She is still in this bloody motel room, the one she vowed this morning to be the hell away from by noon. It is dark except for the glow of the phone.

It is not a wall she has been backing into, it is Mulder. He is asleep on his side and his back is pressed against hers.

She leans across and shakes his shoulder. "Mulder, wake up, we're late." She doesn't know where this urgency comes from; it just seems to take over. It is borne of the deep sleep and is assuming command at the wrong time.

"Mulder, wake up."

He bolts up, his head moving too fast for the rest of his body. He is rewarded by a scary sensation of having his head swirl from the inside. "What's wrong?"

"We've overslept."

"For _what_?" He is too stunned for a vague answer and she is moving way too quickly for him. They have both been jolted from a deep sleep and the fact that neither of them know exactly what is going on doesn't help.

"Scully!" He grabs her arm and pulls her to a stop. But he has tugged too hard and she swings round against him. They both fall back on bed in a perfect movie moment. If they were to turn their heads, they would be face to face. If this were a movie, the jaunty score would sneak up behind them, he would take her into his arms, say something witty or soothing and then -

"We've got to get going," she says and almost rolls over him to get off the bed.

"Huh?" He tries to stand up without alerting her that something may be wrong. But, he realizes slowly, he could grow two heads right now and she wouldn't notice. She is in a state he has never seen her in before.

She is frightened.

"Hey – Scully, sit. Here….."

"Where are my car keys?"

She is in the bathroom crouched by her open bag, rummaging through all of the crap she now has to bring with her when she travels.

"Scully – stop. We'll find them in a second."

Mulder carefully leads her out of the bathroom. They sit down on the side of the bed and look out the window from the darkness of this motel room. The rain has started again and the window fills up with slow drops that take their time wandering down the glass. He keeps an arm around her to make sure she doesn't bolt. When she gives up the fight and leans her head against his shoulder, he loosens his grip but he doesn't let go. He will never let go.

They sit in silence, staring out a dark window as the rain falls and falls. It takes everything they have not to run and hide.

"You mother called."

He isn't certain how long they have been sitting here for. He thinks she may have fallen asleep. He thinks he may have as well but he can't be sure. He is so tired he doesn't know if he is imagining things like sleeping when he is awake.

She lifts her head but won't look at him.

"She wanted to know if you'd rescheduled some of your appointments for this week."

Scully just nods. She will call her mother when she gets home. They can plan the week. Maybe see if there is a time to go shopping. Maybe go for lunch.

"I'm so scared, Mulder," she whispers with a dread she has never spoken before.

He has been waiting for - and fearing - this moment for a long time.

Slowly, her head lowers. He isn't sure if she is crying. Scully's tears are a private matter, even in the company of his arms, and he will respect this. She says something but he can't make it out. He leans closer towards her.

"I want to sleep," she tells him.

Carefully, he stands up and waits while she pulls back the sheets and slips under them as if they are a cave. She glances over her shoulder and sees him standing at the side of the bed, waiting for her next cue. Scully moves further to the centre of the bed to make room for him. The bed sinks behind her and he climbs in, pulling the sheets over both their shoulders, gathering her into his arms as tightly as he can.

Within moments, they are both sound asleep and they are safe for the time being.

The sun is the first thing he sees. It is searing through the window, daring him to open both eyes at the same time and still live. Mulder has, like his partner, slept through the night. They will be the best-rested agents in the bureau.

It takes Mulder a moment to figure out why he cannot move. He is tangled in sheets. He has slept in his clothes again. He has tried to stop doing this at home when he is too tired to go to bed and camps out on the couch. No biggie, he decides; she slept in her clothes too. It's what big people do when they have shared a difficult night in the same bed, in a shitty motel in Rhode Island.

He can hear her voice across the small room. She is sitting at the desk, her back to him, talking quietly into her cell. Her shoulders are hunched as she leans over her date book. "Twelve o'clock on Thursday?"

Skinner? This is his first thought. She has arranged an appointment with Skinner to discuss Mulder's behaviour. She wouldn't even have to hide it from him at the office because he will most likely be banned from the office on official Doctor's Orders. And if she can't get to his regular doctor, she will sign the forms herself.

"He's fine. No, he'll have to be careful. Physically, I think the side effects will ease away. "

He waits for the second part of this sentence. It should start with the dreaded words, "_Emotionally_….." But it doesn't. The person on the other end of the line is doing the talking.

Christ, he thinks with a certain horror. His mother. She has called his mother to let her know that her son is all right, no longer the raving madman he was two days ago in her home. It would be like Scully to let his mother know he is fine. Unless - The Boys? Why would any of them call her? Unless Frohicke was feeling unusually brash. But Mulder would have heard the phone ring so she must have placed the call. Scully's calling the gunmen now? She really does think he is in deep shit.

"You spoke to him?" Scully is asking in a curious voice. "_When_?"

Her mother. Mulder's heart beats again. It is only her mother. He is smart enough to lie there and listen until she realizes he is awake. He won't pretend to be sleeping, that would be deceptive. Remaining motionless is fair game, though.

More silence on her end. "I'll talk to him - I don't think I can wait much longer." More silence. She shifts in the chair.

His heart stops again. Christ, how much worse could she have to tell him than what she told him last month? He will not survive this, he thinks. But he can survive this and he will. Survival is what Fox Mulder does best and he will do it for himself and for her for as long as he needs to.

"I'll call you when I get in - you too - bye Mom."

Scully shuts off her phone and seems to stare at it forever. When she stands and turns, she sees Mulder struggling to sit up in bed with the blankets and their corners virtually tying him down.

"Morning," she says stepping over a stray pillow.

"Suppose so," he grumbles back as he gages the temperature in the room. She has a distracted look in her eye again. The message is clear. He will not speak of the strange day they had. She will not speak of the strange night they had.

"What time is it?" Mulder asks,

"A little after six. In the morning."

"How long have you been up?"

She pauses as if this is a trick question. "Just an hour or so." She picks up some pill bottles and a bottle of water and brings them to the end of the bed. She sits down next to him. "Over this way - I want to have a look at you."

This is going to be a long day but he does as she asks because he is in her hands now and will do whatever it takes to get back home. "I'm fine."

She sits back and looks at him as if he has handed her a twenty to tell him everything is fine. "I'm making the calls here, Mulder, not you."

He won't reply. Now is not the time to get into a power struggle with someone feeling possibly more messed up than he does right now.

Satisfied that he is not in any danger for the near future, she reaches for three of the pill bottles. "You need to start on these now." She begins to spill out instructions for each of them until Mulder finally interrupts, clearly insulted.

"I think I can follow instructions on a little bottle"

"Mulder, your version of following instructions is avoiding them. Again, I'm in charge so listen. These pills, you need to take with food, every four hours. That means you'll have to wake up in the night, so set your alarm. This one is every morning. These ones you cannot have any alcohol while you're taking them."

She continues with a stream of rules for each medication he is on. She finishes with the good old standard medical warning. "Don't you dare miss a dose or stop until the pills run out. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"If I don't think you're taking them, or if I don't feel you're ready to return, I will see that you are put on medical leave. I can have security cut off your access to the building."

"Fine," he says crawling off the bed without giving her a glance. He disappears into the bathroom, barely managing not to slam the door behind him.

Mulder spends enough time in the bathroom to give her time to settle down. He doesn't like where this day is headed. He brushes his teeth, shaves, showers, changes back into his clothes, uses his deodorant and finds new ways to comb his hair.. And leaves the bathroom.

She is coming through the front door as he reaches the bed. Scully avoids his eye but waves an invoice in the air. "I've checked us out. You owe me three hundred and twenty one dollars."

She's billing him now?

He plucks the paper from her hand and stuffs it into his jeans pockets. "Thanks."

"Have you got everything?"

"I think so."

"Fine," she says and turns towards the door

"Hey, Scully." She stops, as if she might actually turn around. But she stays where she is.

"I want to make a stop before we leave town."

"All right," she repeats.

He waits for the argument that should follow this demand.

It doesn't come. He checks the room one more time for any misplaced belongings. He stops just before he closes the door to give this strange place one final look. He feels like he was born, and then died in this room. And suffered everything in between.

END OF CHAPTER 3


	4. DEMONS - Afterwards CH 4

**CHAPTER 4**

"Mulder," she begins in a familiar, fed-up whine. She has parked at the gates of the old house; the scene of the crime. Mulder is out of the car and wandering towards the house before she has unclipped her seatbelt.

Scully knew she didn't stand a chance of avoiding this one stop he needed to make. She knows he would have opened the car door at any stoplight, rolled out and found his way here no matter what.

There is still yellow tape surrounding the house. This doesn't stop him as he carefully bends under it and climbs the few rickety steps to the front door.

"What are we doing here?" she asks from the front door, clearly irritated. "We're violating at least ten rules just being here."

His voice comes from the top of the staircase. "I just want to see if I remember anything."

Her fists begin to clench. Only Mulder could make this statement and miss the irony. Remembering almost cost him his life. What the hell else does he want?

"Ten minutes, Mulder, then I'm leaving." She wanders into the empty living room and sees the chalk outline from the day before. The blood stains are beginning to darken.

There are more movements from upstairs. Careful footsteps pass over her head. Scully wonders how many people owned this house. Was it a summer house or all-season? Did it ever look as lovely as it did in the paintings or were the paintings as manufactured as she suspects Mulder's memories might have been?

As she crosses the old floor, she can hear her shoes make a soft noise with each step. Her family used to go to an uncle's cottage like this every summer. The children never had to wear shoes, no matter how rough the floors were. They were summers of splinters and joy.

There is a dense thud from the floor above. Scully flies to the staircase two steps at a time. Mulder is sitting against a doorway, trying to steady himself while his head zaps out of his body.

She crouches next to him and curses herself for letting him talk her into this stupid detour; at him for not waiting until he is home to have another seizure.

The pain isn't as deadly as the other attacks have felt but it has hit him just as hard.

She is talking calmly to him; she is back in Doctor Mode. But she is pissed.

He sits back against the door frame as her words come into focus. "Sorry," is all he can croak.

"You okay now?"

He nods. "No hospital. I can see a doctor when I get home."

Silence. He thinks he is going to get an argument. But he doesn't. She looks around for any sign of a bathroom. It wouldn't matter. There probably hasn't been running water in this place for years. "Think you can get up?"

This much he can do, but only with her help.

"Come on," she is saying, when she should be rereading him the terms of his release. "Let's get some air."

Scully leans deep into the front seat of the car. She remembers stuffing a bottle of water there a few days ago. Her fingers finally reach a warm, plastic bottle and in a moment, she has the little bugger. Mulder is sitting on the front porch, where she left him and he looks terrible. He has had a rough few days, she reminds herself. He has had a rough few lives. But then, so has she.

"Sorry, it's warm." She unscrews the cap and hands him the bottle.

He is shaking his head, a polite look on his face. "Not thirsty."

"Get thirsty, Mulder. You need some hydration."

This time he gets the message and takes a few hesitant drinks. It makes him want to throw up. Warm water does that to him but he will do as he is told. If he yaks, he yaks.

"Move over," she says quietly. As he shifts to the right, she slowly sits down next to him on the step. They are shoulder to shoulder. "We need to talk."

Few words, especially when beginning a sentence, can cause as much fear in human beings as these four words do.

He lifts an eyebrow. "It's not me, it's you?"

She smiles weakly. It would be funny if it were not in some part true.

He is waiting to hear the punch line. "Scully…."

In goes a deep breath. "Mulder, have you considered getting counseling?"

He tries not to cough up the water. "_What?" _

He and Scully know there are certain rooms in each other's lives that exist but admittance is only upon request.

"Doctor Addison – she suggested it as a way to -" She cannot believe she is going over to the dark side. "To deal with some things"

"You're kidding me, right, Scully? To deal with _some things_? I think we both know the _'things'_ I have to deal with wouldn't exactly fly in a shrink's office."

"He only meant - to talk to someone professional - about what led you to -" She gives up. She know that she sounds as if she might as well have _Personnel_ written on a badge, with '_My Name is Dana'_ printed in near perfect letters. "I'm just passing along a suggestion. And I'm well aware of what your … _things_ involve."

"What about you?" He says without the defensiveness. "Do you think I need that too?"

"I think-" There is a loose piece of wood on the step under her left foot. She tries to pry it away. The step has almost rotted through. "I think the idea is not without some merit. Something made you come here and put your life at risk. If I'd asked on Friday what your plans for the weekend were, would you have told me?"

He is silent for a moment. "No."

"Why?"

He lowers his head. "You would have tried to talk me out of it. I still would have come anyway and that would have meant lying to you."

"Because it was a dangerous idea. And the fact that you can so recklessly trade your life for a _possible_ answer from the past … it scares the hell out of me Mulder and …. I can't just -"

"I know I scared you. It won't happen again."

Silence. They had both sworn off any words that hinted of a future. Right now, '_again_' is at the top of the list.

"There is a doctor I've been talking to – she is with the bureau. Maybe you could arrange an appointment with her." She waits for the explosion she expects. When it doesn't come, she lays down the last stick of dynamite. "She has suggested you come for one of my sessions."

It is almost a whisper by the time she has this much out.

He would like to know if this is something Skinner and she had discussed. But that wouldn't be a smart idea to ask, especially if the answer was yes.

Skinner had cornered him after a meeting last week.

'_How do you find Agent Scully?' he had asked carefully. 'Is there any sign that she should not be in the field?'_

_Mulder tried not to show distain for the question. "She's fine, sir. She will let me know if things come to that stage." _

_Skinner's knuckle dug deeper into one eye. This must be bad. Mulder was tempted to ask if Skinner was all right but this was Skinner's party and if he wanted to fill it with magical silence, that was his prerogative. _

"_How are you coping with Agent Scully's illness?"_

_Mulder had looked up at him strangely. "Coping, sir?"_

'_I know how supportive you have been for her." Skinner cleared his throat longer than he needed to and it hit Mulder that this was the real point of this chat, not Agent Scully's health. 'I'm concerned that you may need access to support for yourself.' _

_He tilted his head. 'Excuse me sir?'_

_And, like a good boy, Skinner opened his top drawer and produced three pamphlets. He deposited them on the middle of the desk where neither man was obligated to pay them any attention. _

_Skinner felt like an idiot. Pamphlets. Personnel's response to any and all problems._

_Mulder doesn't know whether to laugh or leave. No wonder Skinner looks as though he wants to slide under his desk. _

"_Human Resources, sir?" Mulder asks kindly._

"_Yes. I'm obligated to …. Suggest options to you." He nodded towards the pamphlets. "That sort of thing."_

"_Okay. Well. Message received." Relieved it is nothing more than bureaucratic humdrum, Mulder stands up again. "If that's all, Sir, I'll be on my way."_

_He made it a few steps away until Skinner's voice called him back. This time, Skinner didn't look as guilty for towing the office line. _

'_Look, Mulder, this pamphlet crap aside …. I know none of this can be easy on you – watching your partner go through this, not letting her see that you are worried."_

"_Is this some trick to get me to a shrink?' Mulder had been on too many ends of that conversation to not see another lure sneaking up._

'_No, it isn't. And this isn't about what they want you to hear. I've already told you what I'm supposed to tell you. This is my own interest, not the Bureau's. You are backing her up. You will need someone backing you up."_

"_I'm fine, Sir."_

"_I'm not saying you're not. If you need to talk, my door is open. That's all I wanted to tell_ you. _Now,_ you're dismissed."

Skinner had seen two close relatives go through illnesses. He knows what the toll is on the people off-stage, the ones who go through it too but have to keep their emotions in check. If not done right, it is a dangerous game. And like a light bulb going off, he realizes that Mulder has probably not shared this. A sister taken in a moment; father taken in a moment. Neither of them had been given the time to be seen out.

And now, here, a week later in the middle of a rural crime scene, the person Mulder holds dearest is suggesting that he make a couple of trips to the couch.

Her voice darts into his thoughts. "There is something else."

He waits. He doesn't want to pop out another wisecrack but it is taking every bit of self-control not to.

"I have set a date for when I stop work."

This is worse than suggesting Mulder see a shrink. Stop working. Scully. A few weeks ago, she vowed she would work until she couldn't. Now, she is opting out of this world sooner. Too soon.

"What do you think?"

He is truly speechless. He knows she is waiting for some kind of reaction because she is not looking at him. But what is he supposed to say_: 'What the hell is the matter with you_?'

"I trust your judgment."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Well - I think it's a good plan if that's what you want."

"You won't mind being on the X-Files by yourself?"

He sighs and asks with growing frustration, "What do you want me to say, Scully. That it's a fantastic idea? You asked me a polite question; I'm giving you a polite answer."

"And what makes you think I want a polite answer?"

"Because you just do. You want to make this easy on me but that can't happen unless I make this easy on you. And the only way that's going to happen is if I give you a polite answer."

She tries to keep her anger in check and continues to tug at the piece of wood on the step. In a second, she has three inches of rotted wood in her hand. She ignores thoughts of jamming it straight into Mulder's chest. Instead, she stands up and tosses it to the corner of the equally rotting porch.

"If you need to go to the bathroom, you should find a tree now. I'd rather not make any more stops until we are home."

The first hour of the drive is silent. Mulder has given into his medication and has fallen asleep.

She keeps the radio on low. She would like some company but she doesn't want Mulder to wake up because she doesn't want to deal with him when he is like this. Neither, for that matter, does she like him dealing with her when she is like this. It's a fair trade, and if the car were not the only thing getting them home, she would gladly park it by the side of the road and take a nice, long walk there instead. She is feeling the same way she did when she left him in the hospital a few days earlier: shaky, not sure what is going on and wanting normal very, very badly.

Every person in every car she passes looks as though they have the life she wants. Nobody looks sick. Nobody looks lost. They are all going in the same direction. That should give her some comfort but it doesn't. Not even the sleeping man next to her can manage comfort during daylight hours.

Her cell phone begins to ring. The ring creeps into Mulder's sleep. By the time he is about to tell her to answer it, she is already mid conversation. He can only make out only bits and pieces. Scully tensely says, "thank you," to the caller.

"What?" Mulder mumbles from the passenger seat. His eyes are still closed, but he is sitting up, his arms folded as tightly as they will go.

She presses 'end' and puts the phone back down. "Nothing."

"What's happened?" He repeats, this time with unmistakable irritation. He has known her too long to mistake her _Nothing_s.

"Go back to sleep".

But he doesn't. He sits up in the seat, adjusts the seatbelt and looks at her, waiting.

She finally says. "Doctor Goldstein killed himself last night."

Mulder takes a breath. "How?"

"Sheets. I guess he wasn't as frail as he looked,." She slows down to let a tanker truck pass. She is able to glance at her partner. "Mulder?"

"I'm okay."

"You didn't have any part in this."

"I led them to him."

"Mulder, don't." She knows this isn't going to do any good. In Mulder's mind, he might as well have tied the sheets into a perfect slip knot himself.

Several cars pass them. She must have slowed down to sixty at some point. More cars pass.

"I need to get a coffee," Scully says. There is a turn off coming up and she doesn't bother to wait for a reply from Mulder. In a moment, she has parked the car by a bank of picnic benches.

Scully turns off the ignition and looks at Mulder. "Do you want anything?"

He shakes his head.

"Coffee? Coke?"

"No thanks."

"Bathroom?"

"No."

She gets out of the car and is overwhelmed by the relief of escape. She hasn't realized until now how enclosed that car is becoming. Mulder is sapping every bit of life from her.

She goes inside, waits in line for an extra large coffee and two bottles of water. The coffee is for her, the waters are for Mulder. She will force feed it down his throat if he doesn't drink them. She has had enough. She wants him home, she wants him healthy and she wants him away from her for a few days. It is a shitty thing to think but she is in a shitty frame of mind.

There is a TV over the condiments counter. Several people, men mostly, have gathered under it to watch a soccer game. If it were a basketball game, Mulder would refuse to leave. Or baseball game. But she doesn't think soccer does anything for him.

Her mother is right. He needs to be told everything; he _deserves_ to be told everything. But there are things you don't just tell Mulder and expect an immediate reaction. These are things he won't want to hear - _let_ himself hear - until he has enough time to digest them. So, rather than face this, she sits down in a seat close to the TV and watches the action. Back and forth, up and down, the action seems to keep going, even when it stops.

Fifteen minutes later, Scully returns to the car. Taking a break from Mulder was a good idea. She watched people watch a soccer game and for some reason, this has been therapeutic. She thinks she might even be stable enough to have a civil conversation with Mulder. On the other hand, she thinks, crumpling her coffee cup and tossing it straight into a garbage can, Mulder may sleep for the rest of the trip and she can get some silent time to herself.

Only, he is not there when she returns to the car.

The passenger door is unlocked, the window is down. His leather jacket is on the seat, crumpled from the weight of a man sleeping for the last 2 hours. And he is nowhere in sight.

"Mulder," she growls to herself anxiously. This is not what she needs right now. She is reasonably sure he wouldn't have gone far without his coat. She pulls the coat out and goes through the liner pockets. His wallet is not there. She's not sure if this is good or bad. If he has it with him, he could try something stupid like hitching his way back to Providence. If he doesn't have it with him he could be in trouble someplace. And she won't hear about it until he makes another five am phone call for help.

Scully circles the car, and then roams the parking lot, calling his name. Hopefully, people will think she is calling for her dog and leave her alone. Describing a Lhasa Apso is one thing; describing a potentially disturbed Mulder is another.

_Mulder, this is not funny_, she is rumbling to herself over and over again. Explaining to Skinner how she lost Mulder will be a real joy.

She has made a check of the perimeter of the property and is going to go into official panic mode when she notices the back end of an abandoned car behind the restaurant. The grass is knee high – nobody has bothered to cut this part of the property; why should they? Nobody - except those who work and pee here - needs to see it.

The closer she gets, the more pungent the smells get. Gas, rotting food. She rounds the corner and sees a few more rusted, abandoned cars. A couple of picnic benches are scattered here and there. An old gas tank is lying on its side.

And her Mulder is sitting on the back fender of an abandoned pickup truck.

She approaches slowly from behind. He is hunched forward and his shoulders look as if they are shaking. For a moment, she thinks he is talking on his cell phone; maybe laughing. This would be a nice change.

But the closer she gets the more she realizes this isn't the case. He is coughing strangely, as if he is trying to breathe.

"Mulder," she calls.

"I'll be there in a moment," he barks.

"What's the -" She stops in her tracks as she stands in front of him and sees his face.

He is crying. He is trying to stop but, like breathing, it has taken on a life of its own. He can't stop one without starting the other.

He leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, trying to return to deep, steady breaths. He knows she is watching, waiting for an explanation. Anything that will convince her he is not about to drop dead right here in the middle of nowhere.

"We're going straight to the hospital when we get to DC."

"No." He shakes his head slowly. His control is slowly returning as long as he doesn't move. He is literally choking back tears that have been lurking in the shadows for weeks and have now, in the most inconvenient way, sprung a well-executed hijacking. "This doesn't have anything to do with this weekend. I don't need a hospital. "

"Panic attack?" she guesses.

He nods.

"How long?"

"A while." Since she broke her news, to be exact. "Usually I just can't breathe. This is a new one."

"What have you been doing about them?"

"Nothing."

"You haven't disclosed this to a Bureau doctor?"

"I just did." He tries for smile from her. No deal. "It only happens when I'm _not _working." He nods towards the direction of the parking lot. "Like when I'm sitting on a car in the middle of nowhere."

"What happened now?"

He shrugs and says quietly, "Just hit me. Couldn't stop."

There are still pools in his eyes. He doesn't try to look away; he knows he has been caught. She is the only one he would trust to see him this damaged.

She tries to smile lightly. "We make quite a pair."

Another nod.

"Is … are your attacks … do they have anything to do … with me?"

"No," he lies badly.

She waits a moment, trying to see if there is any more to this that he'd like to offer up. There isn't and she hands him his coat. "Let's go."

She stands up and takes a few steps towards in the long grass. She expects to hear a similar sound of moving grass behind her but there is silence. She turns around to see Mulder still sitting on the truck. He has a strange look on his face. The kind when he is trying to solve a puzzle without a single clue.

"Mulder? Let's go." She turns again to leave.

"Why don't you ever tell me about your appointments?"

This stops her in her tracks. _Shit,_ she thinks to herself.

He is waiting.

"Can we talk about this later? I want to get going."

He doesn't twitch. His eyes never leave her. "Sure," he finally says, his voice tinged with resentment. He gets to his feet, jams his hands into his pockets and walks past her back to the car.

Ten minutes back into the ride, he seems to be asleep again. Scully uses the time to think about his question; he is on to her. It's the only explanation she can think of; the nosebleeds, the appointments. The results she hasn't even shared with her mother yet. Mulder was the first person she told when she was sick. She needed him to be the first she shared the latest results with. She would need that strength to work with.

There is a sudden motion from the passenger seat. Mulder wakes up with a start and whacks the back of his hand against the window. "Jesus," he yelps and holds his hand.

"Good sleep?" Scully asks dryly.

He is too busy trying to catch his breath to be glib back. "I think I had a terrible dream."

"The one where all of the magazine stores close at the same time?"

He appreciates the humour she is trying to inject but he is too stunned and has just had the shit scared out of him to let her know. His headache is back with a powerful crash. And all he can think about is this dream. He won't tell her about it. She died in the dream.

Scully begins to pull over onto the shoulder of the highway.

"What are you doing?" he asks, trying to sit up

Scully undoes her seatbelt and turns towards him. For a moment, he thinks she is going to get out of the car and start walking. For the moment, Mulder considers lot of things these days. She puts the back of her hand on his cheek for a moment. Then on his forehead. "You've got a fever, Mulder," she says with a mixture of irritation and concern.

"No, I don't."

"Um, yes you do. You're hot, flushed, sweaty."

"Maybe I'm in love."

This at least gets a roll of the eyes from her. He considers this a success. Maybe he gets funnier as he gets sicker. She hands him one of the water bottles and reaches to the back seat to get her bag. She opens it carefully, making sure he cannot catch a glimpse of what else is in here. She pulls out a bottle of aspirin and hands it to him. "Take two."

She waits until he has downed both of the pills before she pulls back onto the highway. No more stops, she tells herself. Too much time has gone past already. She notices her bag is open by his legs. One glance and he would see what is in there. At least she doesn't have that round of questions to answer, she thinks, grabbing the bag and swinging it to the backseat.

Her cell phone rings. Careful not to jolt the sleeping man with her elbow, Scully opens it with one hand and puts it to her ear.

It occurs to Scully how little she has concentrated on her own world since rushing into Mulder's two days ago. And now, Skinner is calling. He has been unusually attentive lately. He had a meeting with Mulder the week before but Mulder wouldn't tell her what it was about; she could only guess it was about her. She had been clear with Skinner that she would not work beyond her limit but that she wasn't going a moment before she had to.

"Sir," she says, business as usual.

"Where are you?"

"We're on the way home."

"How's Agent Mulder?"

She hesitates. "Better." It is not a lie. He is better than he was when she admitted him to the hospital two days ago.

Skinner clears his throat even though there is nothing to clear. "We have a problem. It seems news of his arrest made it to the top floor. They want an inquiry."

"But he was cleared of any involvement."

"They don't care. They want to make something out of it. And soon."

She grips the steering wheel and hopes to God that Mulder is truly out cold. "And what do you suppose their conclusion will be?" She doesn't mean to lash out at the one friend they have in the bureau but sometimes, it isn't easy.

"Exactly what you expect."

"And my health?"

Silence.

"Sir?"

"They are looking for any excuse, Agent Scully. If neither of you prove fit for duty - with or without doctor sign off - then you will both be put on leave. The X-files will be closed. _Temporarily_, they say."

"I don't believe this."

Mulder stirs next to her and she remains silent. There is a road block up ahead – a traffic accident by the looks of it – and their lives come to another slow halt.

"Mulder practically delivered this to them on a silver tray. Your condition just seals the deal. With one of you gone, they can't close the X-Files. Two of you is a different story."

"Damnit." She tries to keep the two rages in her mind from overlapping but it isn't working. There is a roadblock ahead that is only delaying her return to civilization, at which time she and her partner will be shown the golden door.

"Agent?"

Skinner has grown nervous with the silence. He can hear the honing from pissed off motorists on Scully's highway. He can hear her sigh, "_Christ,_" with angry desperation.

"I'm here, sir."

"Will you be in the office tomorrow or will you still be taking your two days leave."

She had forgotten she is not even supposed to be at work right now. Or tomorrow. Theoretically, at this moment, she should be leaving the hospital with her mother after a day of tests. She should be exhausted, hungry and tense. She should be going home, or to her mothers' depending on how she is feeling; maybe call Mulder and see what is going on at the office. He will ask her how things are – she won't have told him about the tests but she would suspect he knows anyway – and she would answer that she is good. And then she would change the subject back to work. It's been repeated so many times in the past month, she could do it in her sleep. Or, at the very least, in the driver's seat of a car that is stalled behind twenty other stalled cars.

"Mulder. Wake up. We're here."

_Home_, she almost says but this is his building she has parked in front of, not hers. Exhausted, she slowly undoes the seatbelt and turns off the engine. It is eerily silent. She glances at Mulder and marvels at how, all these years, medicated or not, he can still sleep through any kind of drive. Even the kind where the car stops and starts in bursts of hope that the roadblock will end. Now, metaphorically speaking, does she want to wake him now and bring him back to reality? He is probably dreaming of new package in a brown paper wrapper; finding little green men in his doorway; floating in a sea of sunflower seeds.

And now she has to drop the little bomb Skinner sent them. Scully has spent the drive contemplating if and when she should tell him about Skinner's call and what kind of strategy they could use to get out of the situation. What he did could be some strange reaction to stress - an isolated incident, a response to his dying friend. She is sure with the help of a good thesaurus they could pull something out of the hat.

She nudges his shoulder. "Mulder."

He slowly opens his eyes.

"We're home," she says with little enthusiasm

Carefully, he undoes his seatbelt and drags his hands through his hair. He couldn't begin to guess what time it is. He has only just registered that it is his building they are parked in front of. "You want to come up?"

"Sure."

Like two survivors of a year's journey through underground caves, they haul their things from the car and slowly make the long walk to the main door of the building. Mulder fishes around several pockets of his coat before finally pulling out his keys. He manages an apologetic smile as he fumbles to get the right one into the front door.

Neither speaks as they go down the hall towards the elevator. It's a small building, seven floors but tonight the only elevator seems to be servicing every last one of them. Scully leans her back against the door and sighs. Mulder leans against the adjacent wall and sighs. They could take the stairs but that prospect is way too daunting.

Scully's cell phone ring. Armed with only the reassurance that it is not Mulder calling, she pulls the phone out of her bag. "Hi Mom. ... Yes, we just got back."

The elevator doors finally open. Scully, Mulder and third person step inside.

Mulder pushes the 4th floor with his knuckle.

"He's fine. I'll going to stay here overnight."

She doesn't see the look from Mulder. Neither of them sees the third passenger raise his eyebrow at this strange remark. Perhaps mothers, no matter how old their daughters become, don't mind being told their daughters are spending the night at a man's apartment. The gentleman still won't even tell his mother where he lives.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Yes, I'm fine, Mom. We'll talk tomorrow."

She puts her phone away as the doors open to the fourth floor.

"She worried about you?" Mulder asks as they start down the hallway.

"No more than usual."

The apartment is dark and stuffy, they way an apartment - quickly abandoned on a Friday without opening a window, or clearing the crap from the sink - would seem. Mulder drops his bag and goes over to see his fish. They are still alive and thriving and, for some reason, this puzzles him.

"Fish okay?" Scully asks from across the room.

He nods but doesn't turn around. "Go home, Scully. I'm fine."

Scully drops her bag by the couch and drops into the couch. "I'm the one still making that call, Mulder. You had a fever this afternoon; you're not out of the woods yet for seizures. I want to make sure any side effects from your medications kick in while I'm here."

He turns around. "Well," he says, folding his arms and leaning against the desk. "You look like crap too."

"Oh, thank you. This from the man who is greyer than the grays he searches out."

He lands on the couch next to her and drops his head back against the wall. "I hate this."

"Hate what?"

"Causing all of this. On top of everything else, I've made you spend a day in a car three-hundred hour drive."

"We've had longer and worse drives, Mulder." she sighs, tiredly. "Find something else to hate." She tugs at his arm and pulls him towards her. The gesture is a little too intimate for either of their comfort and she quickly lets go.

"Still warm," she says, putting her hand on his forehead. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"A little."

"Think you can sleep?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got my laptop. I want to get some work done."

"Scully, go home. Sleep in your own bed. If something happens, I'll call you or 911."

"I'm too tired to get into my car and drive to my place."

"Then at least take the bed." He does a fast mental recall to remember last time he changed the sheets

"No, you take the bed. But thank you." She hopes there is not going to be a polite stand off about who gets the bed.

Mulder puts this fear to rest when he nods absently and stands up. "You know where everything is?"

"By heart. Wake me if you need anything."

Mulder returns from the bathroom. Halfway through zipping up his fly, he comes to a complete stop. Scully is sitting on the side of his bed with a disturbed look on her face.

For a second, wonders if she has lost her senses. Or come to them. Maybe he doesn't have any left. Maybe this is a trick.

She looks up gloomily. "We're under investigation for improper behaviour."

"What?" He lands heavily on the mattress, making her bounce._ But you're only just sitting on my bed, _he thinks dumbly_. And we were both fully dressed last night _

"Skinner called me this afternoon while you were sleeping. I debated whether or not to tell you right away."

"Scully, that's the kind of thing you wake me up for."

"No it's not. It's the kind of thing you keep from him as long as you can."

She tells him Skinner's version. Mulder's only reaction is, "_Why in the hell are they dragging you into this?_"

"Because it makes it easier for them to close up shop. With my illness, they now have more leverage. You knew it was going to come sooner or later, Mulder."

With the bedside table lamp on, he sees how pale she has become lately. There are bags under her eyes he hasn't noticed before. He is guilty of not noticing anything; she is probably relieved.

"When is all of this supposed to take place?"

"This week."

"You've got your tests all week. Did you tell Skinner that?"

"Mulder, I can worry about my own schedule."

"Did you tell Skinner about your appointments?" he repeats slowly. Her non-responsive face gives him his answer.

Something about this conversation is making her uncomfortable. Maybe it is because of how close he is sitting to her. She could stand up and leave and he would follow. But this doesn't happen. "You don't have to worry about me, Mulder," she says very pointedly.

"You've made damn sure of that."

She turns her head sharply. "Excuse me?"

"Every _day _you make damn sure that I don't worry about you."

She would like to ask where this has suddenly popped up from but from the strain on his face, she thinks that it has been stashed away for some time. "Are you saying you think I have not included you in …._ this?_" _ 'This' _is the best word she can come up with. Journey is too personal.

He looks down at his stocking feet. "I suppose so."

"And you don't think I have kept you in the loop?"

"No, actually, I don't. You haven't told me anything I need to know. You tell me what's easy."

"It's personal."

She still can't believe she said this to her brother when he asked why she hadn't told him that she was sick.

"You found me sitting naked in a bathtub shivering under a hot shower. You don't get much more personal than that. I worry about you more for what I don't know is going on with you than I worry about what you do tell me. How do I know you're fine? You say it as if it's part of your name. You wear it as if it's a sign of defiance only _I'm_ not the enemy."

She would like to interject right now, protest that everything he says is his truth, not hers. But she can't.

Some people are saved by the bell. She is saved by the knocking at the front door. It sounds like thunder compared to the deathly silence in this room.

Mulder leans forwards and sighs. Tiredly, he stands up and walks out of the room.

There is the exchange of low voices at the front door. Nothing unusual. Just two people talking about something she can't make out from here.

In a moment, he pads back into the room and tosses a box of chocolate almonds onto the bed. He sits down next to her. This time, closer. She doesn't know if this is deliberate or not. He seems tired enough that anything deliberate he does might not be how it looks.

"Kid selling them for some charity. Scouts or something."

Scully reaches behind and picks up the box. She turns it over to read the label – a curse of being a health practitioner. As she expected, it is full of long names no boy scout should know how to pronounce

"I just wish..." Mulder pauses. She is still looking at the box. "I want you to stop telling me you're fine when you're not. I know you, Scully, just as well as you know me, and when you give me that answer, you might as well be answering with two words and a finger."

He waits for her to answer. Open the box. Tell him to buzz off. But there is nothing. Her eyes are slowly filling.

There is another knock on the door.

"Christ, now what," Mulder grumbles.

It is another kid. Another sale. Mulder parts with another five to get him out of here. He rips open the box and pours the chocolate into his mouth. The kid looks up at him with respect as the door glides shut on his face.

Scully is trying to hold it together as she stands in the living room, trying to pull her laptop from her overnight bag. "Mulder, I'd like to talk about this tomorrow if you don't mind."

He stands in the doorway, and pours the rest of the chocolates into his hand instead and nods tensely. "Fine."

The clock radio is blinking. Twelve O'clock. Over and over again. Mulder only notices this because a strange headache awakens him from an even stranger dream involving a basketball game, Scully's brother and a team of marines. They have accused Mulder of throwing the game. Just as Mulder woke up, one of the marines threw a basketball on his head from three floors above.

And now, tangled in sheets that were never actually sorted to begin with, he has to figure out what time it is, which medication does he have to take and can he take it with an aspirin without poisoning himself.

He tip-toes across the living room where Scully is sound asleep on the couch. Her laptop is lying open on her stomach. There is a squeak in the one of the floorboards and he stops, waiting to see if this is enough to wake her. She doesn't move. Her mouth is open and if he were to creep close enough, he would hear the sound of quiet snoring.

He pours a glass of water and moves the various bottles of pills on the counter in front of the other, trying to sort out which is for the night time, which is for the day and which he can get away without taking.

He grumbles, 'damnit' as one of the bottles rolls onto its side and onto the linoleum floor with an annoying bang and rattle.

Still no sound from the living room so he has done well so far. He would like her to sleep as soundly and long as she can. There is nobody else in this world that deserves this peace as much as she does. If he thought he could manage it, he would clean up his room, re-make the bed and gently deposit her into it for as long as it took for her to get well again.

He thinks about her decision. Scully can't have truly meant that she wants to leave her job before she has to. This woman loves her job in the deepest sense. Not like other people love their desks and coffee breaks and PowerPoint presentations. Scully loves her work. She told him this in a teary confession shortly after her father died.

"Mulder!" her voice shrieks from the living room. It is followed by a disturbing bang.

Mulder slams down the bottle and dashes into the living room. Scully is sitting up, terror in her eyes. The laptop is on its side on the floor several feet away and it must have taken a long flight in the air.

"Scully, what is -" It is a useless question by the time he gets to her side. She has had a nightmare and he isn't sure if it has ended yet.

"Mulder, get out of here they know where you are."

He sits down next to her and pulls her towards him. "I'm fine, Scully, everything is fine."

She looks around the dark room and sees the laptop on its side. She begins to get her breath back as she realizes what has happened. "Did I break it?"

Mulder leans forward and manages to grab the laptop's corner. He puts it on the coffee table. It does not look good. "Maybe a little." His arm goes around her and he pulls her in close. "It's okay now."

She will take him at his word because the images are still pretty damn vivid in her mind.

"Do you have many of these?" he asks quietly.

"Now and then."

He tries to recall if she might have had one last night but he was so out of it, he wouldn't have known. And she wouldn't have told him.

"You want something to drink?"

"No. Yes – have you taken your pills yet?"

That she can pull this out of her medical memory is both annoying and reassuring.

"I was just about to."

And, from a scene taken from the previous twenty-four hours, he helps Scully to her feet and leads her into the bedroom. He smoothes out the sheets, folds them back and holds them open for her. She must be more out of it than he thinks, because she slips under them without a word of _polite-guest-protest_.

"Be right back," he promises. He points to the lamp. "Do you want the light on?"

"No. Off."

He returns in thirty seconds with a glass of water, the same one he was about to down an aspirin with and puts it on the side table. He sits on the side of the bed. "You awake?"

Her eyes open. "Mmmm."

"Do you want to try to go back to sleep?"

She shakes her head.

"Why don't I take you home? You can sleep in your own bed. I'll use your couch."

"No. Neither of us is in any shape for driving."

"Okay." He looks around. "You want the TV? I can bring it into the room."

She puts a hand on his arm. "No. Stay here. Sleep in your own bed, Mulder."

An anonymous hotel bed is one thing; his own bed is another. But she needs him here and so, for that matter, does he need her.

"I want to hear about your dream …" Mulder says, walking around the bed. He grabs a pair of track pants left on the floor and jams them on without drawing attention to himself. "I was in it?" He crawls over the covers and lies down next to her on his side, his head propped up by his elbow.

"Yes."

"And I was in trouble."

"Yes."

"Why?"

She knows he deserves to know about the mini movie he just stared in. And that he deserves to know much more than this too. But she is damned if she can figure out how to wade through the quagmire of thoughts and details and get to the truth.

"I did something stupid, didn't I?"

"Yes. I didn't know how to get you to safety."

"But you did. You saved my ass, Scully. Again."

He misses the point that she is worried about him beyond the safety of waking moments. The fear has driven deep underground into her sleep.

"Maybe you should change channels, have a good dream about me."

He smiles as she throws him a mock glare.

"You wish, Mulder."

"A boy can dream."

"What was that file in your office on Friday?"

This question catches him off guard. Since when do they talk about files on desks in the middle of the night when they are both not-sleeping in the same bed? Since they began to not-sleep in the same bed, he decides.

"The once Skinner sent down?"

Scully, her eyes closed nods. "Something he wants looked into?"

Mulder pulls a pillow from the corner and stuffs it under his head. He rests his hands behind his head and settles in for an explanation. "Some ice skaters from Florida," he begins, trying to steady the enthusiasm in his voice. "Apparently, they have been seeing some strange images on the rinks."

"Florida has ice skaters?"

"Told you it was an X-file. Now, stop interrupting me, Scully, and I'll tell you all about it."

Five calm, simple minutes later, he has finished his story. She drifted back to sleep somewhere between the third and fourth minute. Mulder continued with the story because it was a good one.

He sits up and carefully pulls the rest of the blanket over her shoulders. He saves enough for himself, turns on his side towards her and falls asleep thirty seconds later.

**END OF CHAPTER 4**


	5. DEMONS - Afterwards CH 5

**CHAPTER 5**

There is a disturbingly chipper bird chirping away outside Mulder's window. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that it is morning. The bird makes that message loud and clear.

For a moment, he forgets that he had a guest in his bed last night until he smells her scent. It's a flower he can't remember. Scully often smells like flowers. He doesn't want to imagine what he smells like.

"Scully?" He sits up and grimly drags his fingers through his hair. He feels like shit but this is the first morning he hasn't felt like dying. He isn't certain but he also suspects he didn't have the usual dreams that have haunted him lately.

She is not in his bed.

"Scully, you here?" He slowly crawls out of bed and wonders when the hell he got to be so old.

The living room is empty. The pillows and cushions are back on the couch in the usual spots. The broken laptop is nowhere in sight. But there is a smell of freshly made coffee coming from the kitchen.

Next to the full coffee pot is a note written on the back of an envelope in typical Scully scrawl.

'_M-wasn't feeling up to driving - my mother picked me up. Car still outside. I'll get it later. Will call you today. Skinner wants to see you at ten. Don't forget your meds. S."_

_Fucking medications_, he growls under his breath. She knows this is going to make or break him. He knows it too, only he doesn't need to be reminded. But she has also made a lovely smelling pot of coffee to start his day so he will forgive her the reminders.

"If you ever – _ever-_ do something that stupid, without telling your partner or anyone else that you are going to do it, you will be suspended for so long that the Want-Ads in the Janitor's office will start to hold some interest for you!"

Mulder wonders how Skinner knows if there are Want-Ads in the janitor's office. That detail aside, he now finds himself sitting across from Skinner, in his office. He is sitting up straight in a suit fresh from the dry cleaners. He doesn't hold any illusions that he will need it for more than an hour; he strongly doubts Skinner will let him anywhere near the office without a heavily armed escort.

"You put the Bureau in a compromising position on too many levels to get into. You're lucky Agent Scully came to me first with this or your ass really would be officially out of here." Skinner comes to a close on his opening rant. He sits back in his chair and puts his fingers together.

Not certain if this is his cue or not, Mulder shifts uncomfortably and wonders if this is the time to bring up the ice-rink case Skinner had left him with last week.

"Yes, Sir. I won't let it happen again." And like an idiot, he places his hands on the side of the chair and starts to stand up

"_Sit_!" Skinner booms.

Mulder sits. "Something else, sir?"

"Yes. Plenty else, but we'll stick with the more pertinent details for now. I have managed to strike a deal on your behalf."

"You didn't need to do that, sir -"

The look Skinner gives him could silence Mulder for months. The big guy clears his throat and continues. "You will get counseling. If you are given the okay from the therapist - yes, one provided by the bureau to prevent clever men like you from spreading a nice blanket of BS – you will be approved to return to the field."

"Really, sir, I don't need …." He can barely spit out the word. "… Counseling"

"Some people say otherwise."

Mulder wants to cough up his breakfast, such that it was.

"And you don't return to _any_ kind of work until I get the all-clear from Agent Scully."

It's at this point that Mulder realizes he doesn't stand a chance at this meeting. Skinner has every angle covered and smothered. He and Scully have left nothing to chance. "How have your seizures been? Have you had any more?"

"No sir," he lies blankly. He had one this morning in the shower. Cold water had exploded from the nozzle with the same impact of a blunt instrument

Skinner pulls a typed piece of paper from the desk. "Ketamine and other hallucinogenic side effects; seizures, severe headaches, temporary memory loss, bouts of depression and or suicidal thoughts." He places the paper back down on the desk and folds his arms. "Have you had one or more of these side effects?"

"With all due respect, sir, I think this is a matter between me and my doctor."

"Who has decided to make it my business as well. Look, Agent, I can't control what happens to your partner but I can damn well make sure nothing happens to you under my watch for her. So if you experience any of the aforementioned side effects, you are to let either Scully or myself know immediately. That's another condition of your reinstatement that is not up for discussion."

A sullen nod from Mulder as he tries not to take this personally. He will do this for Scully. He will see a shrink for Scully, he will get reinstated and find a great case that will make her not want to quit work. He will put himself in Must-Mode and eliminate any other line of thought. But instead, a defensive, "You two have certainly worked this out," squirts out of his mouth.

Skinner leans across the desk "Get it clear, Mulder. As much as you think this is about you, it's not."

Mulder takes a deep, irritated breath. "Then what _is_ this about?"

"You don't have a clue, do you?"

"Obviously not."

Skinner shakes his head, dumfounded by the brilliant man in front of him who cannot see the office for the trees.

"It's about helping your partner go through a difficult time without worrying that you are being left to your own devices; devices, I should add that scare the hell out of her."

"I already told her I wouldn't do it again."

Another shake of head. Scully spoke to him in extreme confidence early this morning. About things she had not even told Mulder.

"She is scared for you, Mulder. This was told to me in confidence but I suspect if I don't say something, she may not."

He fidgets in his seat. "What do you mean?"

"That if she becomes very sick; if she does not beat this illness, you will – well, to phrase your own words, do something stupid. She should be worried about her own health at this point, Mulder, not _yours_."

"Why wouldn't she tell me that?" he challenges.

"Because she doesn't want to alarm you. Just as she doesn't want to pass her fears about her illness along to you. She is trying to protect you. I suspect you are trying just as hard to protect her. All I'm asking of you right now is to give her no reason to worry about you; that she knows you are resting, taking your medications, telling her - or me - about any side effects ; that you are doing the right things. You have to do what she says on this, Mulder, for both your sakes."

Mulder's staring into the carpet as if it has just turned into tissue paper. "Yes, Sir," he says distantly. He looks up at Skinner. "She told you all of this?"

"Yes. I've given her my word I'll see to you. I intend to keep that promise because I know you'll keep your promise to do what she asks of you, which is to take care of yourself. She needs you at your strongest."

Slowly, Skinner's words, all of them, begin to sink in to his brain. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll stop by her place and talk to her."

"She's probably still at the General for her tests."

Mulder's head bounces up. The fact that Skinner knows where Scully is and he doesn't irritates the hell out of him.

He thanks Skinner for his time and leaves with what's left of his dignity.

Mulder has been in this particular hospital before; twice in ER for himself, once in X-ray for a person who had swallowed evidence. Never in Oncology. He isn't sure what to expect as the elevator doors open at the fifth floor to an extremely calm looking hallway. There is carpet in the waiting area. The lights are not halogen and in your face. He isn't sure, but he thinks he hears calm music in the distant.

He makes some inquiries at the front desk and finds his way along two more carpeted hallways. People pass and he tries not to look at their faces because of what he might see in them. It's a coward's way out but for the life of him, he doesn't know what else to do.

"Fox?"

He turns around and sees Mrs. Scully sitting on a three-seater in a small corner of the waiting room.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, putting down the book she had been reading. She removes her reading glasses and rests them on the book..

"Mrs. Scully." Mulder stands there for a moment feeling like an idiotic teenager caught peering through the living room window. "I was just – I –"

_I don't know_, is the correct answer he is trying not to sputter out.

She pats the empty cushion next to her. "Sit down."

"I don't want to disturb you."

"You're not disturbing me, " she assures him, shifting to give him more room. She is like her daughter in regards to how she can size up the current state of this particular man. Right now, apart from social awkwardness, she isn't reading him very clearly. "I'm glad for the company."

Carefully, Mulder sits down next to her and almost sinks into the couch. He leans forward, legs spread as he is planning for a sudden bolt.

"How are you?" she asks.

He looks up from the carpet. "Pardon?"

"Dana told me what you'd been through. Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, thanks. The headaches have subsided quite a bit." He doesn't mention the seizures in case Scully was kind enough to have left that detail out "How long has Dana been in there."

Mrs. Scully glances up at the clock above the opposite wall. It's a fancy kind, in roman numerals. She can't stand roman numerals, especially in a hospital where translating the medical talk into English is hard enough. "An hour or so. She's got one more test after this."

"I can wait for her if you want." Mulder feels like a traitor, plotting such a move after Scully has made it perfectly clear that his place is not here.

She doesn't answer him right away; probably, another sign that this is another subject she and her daughter have already discussed.

"That would be a huge help," she sighs unexpectedly.

"I won't be driving," he offers, misreading the delay in her reply. "I'll grab a cab. I'm not supposed to drive for a few days."

"Dana's orders?"

Mulder smiles. "One of many."

"She's got enough to make a referee's book jealous."

"You think she'll mind if I stay?"

"Probably. Which isn't a bad thing. I gather she's kept you at arm's length."

With relief, Mulder looks down and nods.

"She's trying, Fox, but she's so desperate to be in control of this illness that she pushes away anything or anyone who might get in her way."

_Since when am I in her way,_ he asks himself with some concern.

"Do you know what she told her brother when he asked her why she hadn't told him about the cancer? She said because it was _personal_.'"

"She told me that, too."

Mrs. Scully is glad to see a flash of a smile across his face. "And _that_ is what we are dealing with, you and I and her brother."

Bill Scully. The only human being – short of the CSM – who could possibly hate him so much. So Scully is shutting out Super Brother too. This makes him feel like less of a failure but he is too much of a hypocrite to tell Mrs. Scully that.

"Her father was the same way. A control freak – in a good way."

Mulder never met her father. He would have like to. Scully once said Mulder was like him in many ways. He didn't know what to make of that comment.

Right now, in the silence that follows, he will to get up his courage and ask Mrs. Scully if Dana seemed particularly pissed at him this morning. Since Skinner gave him an earful, he suddenly has the gift of sight and sees Scully-shadows in every corner.

"When you picked Dana up this morning …. was she all right?"

'No, Just very tired. Why? Was there anything wrong?"

_You should know_, Mulder thinks, _you're the one she talks to_, not me.

"We left things kind of …. Oddly," he explains. He doesn't even know himself which part of yesterday was left the oddest. The arguments, the attitudes they both threw around and, finally, the sleeping arrangements when they were too exhausted to know better.

"She didn't say anything to me. Just that she was feeling a little too shaky to drive."

Mulder nods. No information offered - no information given.

*.

At three thirty that afternoon, Scully wanders out to the waiting area. She is tired, slightly crabby and expects to see her mother, for whom she will have to put on her best behaviour.

"Mulder?"

Mulder bolts awake. He has been almost sprawled over the couch, his head awkwardly resting on his elbow.

"What are you doing here?"

He slowly sits up and rubs his eyes. His headache is back. He should have known better than to try and sleep and think he could get away with it.

"What are you doing here?" Scully repeats, clearly irritated. "And where is my mother?"

"She had some things to do." Mulder stands up. "I told her I'd take you home -"

"You're not in any better shape than I am."

"She seemed to think so," he says with one final stretch. "You ready to go?"

"You didn't drive here did you?"

He ignores the question and walks past her towards the main corridor. "Do you want to grab something to eat before we go?"

Scully gives up the silent protest and slowly joins him. "No. I just want to go home."

This much he can help her with and get minimum static for his efforts

"What is my car doing here?"

This is the only thing Scully has said during the taxi ride home. She is exhausted and only the sight of her car - which should still be parked at Mulder's - in front of her building could crack a word out of her.

Mulder fishes money from his pocket and pays the driver. "Your mother must have brought it over."

He follows her out of the car and up the walk to her building's front door. This time yesterday, they were lumbering their way up the walk to his hell. Tonight it is her turn.

"I could have picked it up tomorrow," Scully says sharply.

Mulder is tempted to add that she could also solve world-wide famine and find Waldo, but he doesn't. "She helped you out _today_."

Inside Scully's apartment, the lights are on, but her mother is not here.

"Mom?" Scully calls quietly but she knows there won't be an answer. There will be a note on the kitchen counter by the coffee maker, but there will be no mother. For a moment, she is relieved. She is nauseous and not sure she can handle both Mulder and Mother at the same time.

Scully sits down in the living room while Mulder ambles past into the kitchen. As expected, he returns with a sheet of paper in his hand.

"From your mother," he says, sitting across from Scully. He has to squint carefully to make out the words. "She's left some food in the refrigerator … she picked up your car …. Gone to do some massages….

"Messages," Scully weakly corrects

"Oh. Right. ' Back in a while…." Mulder looks up. "Her handwriting is worse than yours."

Scully smiles. This is an understatement.

"Can I get you anything to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Thirsty?"

"No."

"Tea? I can make you some of-"

She looks carefully at him . "Nothing, Mulder. I don't need anything. These things take away my appetite."

He gets the message and sits back. "Okay."

Scully hesitates and asks, "How are you?"

He remembers his promise to himself, Skinner and God. "I've had a better day."

"Seizures?" She rubs her eyebrow tensely as if the question is an afterthought.

"One. This morning. It didn't last long."

"Headaches?"

"They aren't the big ones." He is surprised at how difficult it is to be honest with her when the answers are about him. He pats his coat pocket. "Got my medication."

"You're beginning to scare me."

"If that's all it takes, you should see my-" He watches as a slow dread passes across her face. "Scully?"

Her hand flies to her mouth and despite her unsteady legs, she bolts from the couch to the bathroom in record time.

Mulder follows the familiar sound and finds her crouched in front of the toilette, trying to keep her balance and throw up into the bowl at the same time. He crouches next to her and keeps both hands on her shoulders, so she won't tip to the wrong side.

The vomiting finally comes to a stop. She has a few moments of dry heaves before she sits back and leans against the wall.

Mulder sits down next to her.

"I hate this part," she tells him quietly. "I hate it when my mother has to see this."

He gently rubs her back. "At least she missed this one."

"Does it bother _you_?"

"Yes." He says, thinking this over. "But you're not my daughter."

At least this gets a smile. "Thank God for small favours."

"We've got to stop meeting like this."

Scully says this with a tired, awkward smile. She has had a shower, some herbal tea and is now lying in bed, the covers pulled tightly up. Mulder has just placed a cold cloth over her forehead and now sits down next to her trying not to jiggle the mattress too much.

"Third time's a charm," he cracks and immediately wishes he hadn't. He can make these jokes in anonymous hotel rooms, his own bedroom even, but not hers. "Sorry."

She reads his look correctly and says, through a yawn, "That's all right; people think we're sleeping together anyway."

"Does that bother you?" he asks unexpectedly.

She shrugs and pushes the cloth into her eyes. "What about you?"

"No. I'm Spooky Mulder, remember? I've left a trail of snickers behind my back since I was eighteen. Just comes with the territory. Unfortunately, that's made you Mrs. Spooky by default." He wonders when Mrs. Scully is going to get back, or if this is a plan to stay away so that Daughter and Partner can get their act together.

"I'm going to try and sleep, Mulder, you don't need to stay."

"This sounds familiar," he points out. He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. "I'll be around til your mom comes back. Do you want me to leave the garbage can by the bed?"

She nods. "Might be a good idea."

He leaves a garbage can from bathroom by the night table. "This okay?"

"Yes." She can hear him grow further away and she calls his name before the door closes.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She knows a smile has crossed his face.

"No problem."

**END OF CHAPTER 5**


	6. DEMONS - Afterwards CH 6

**CHAPTER 6**

He has seen this woman before. He knows what she does and that she is one of five people in this profession who work for the FBI. There are three women and two men, and this woman could possibly be The One. He hopes like hell she isn't. There are two other women; the odds _have_ to be in his favour.

Christ, what if they are not?

What is he doing here to start with? Damn Skinner and his deals. Mulder would be better off under his coffee table, seizing all day long and suffering the accompanying headaches. Today, he has the usual headache, but he is filled with enough anxiety that he could lapse into a catatonic state without any help at all. He would swear this is terror. Not the kind he knows when dealing with monsters but the kind that comes with a phone call from someone saying, '_I've got some bad news_ or someone saying, _Mulder,_ _we have to talk._ Or, _Mulder,_ _I have cancer_. That kind of fear.

Even walking down this hallway was particularly difficult. He usually doesn't care about snickers or looks from the other; people have heard and made up their own stories for years. But this sight, him walking into _this_ office –this would justify all of their stories.

She looks at him but doesn't give anything away. She is good. She might know his underwear colour, she might not. But that file on her lap is thick. She keeps leafing through a section printed on blue paper. He doesn't want to think about what part of his life has been committed to blue paper. The good stuff probably; the kind they can bury you with and never blink.

And how can he find out if this is The One without actually _asking _if this is The One. Because if this _is_ The One and a mistake has been made, then he is booting it the hell out of here on the perfectly legitimate grounds of Conflict of Interest. Even Skinner can't spin this technicality, and it will buy Mulder a little more time.

And what about Scully? She probably knows he is here. And if he walks, she will be the first to find out. And this is where he is screwed silly. He said he will do what it takes to help her and this includes sitting through this bullshit. So, he will do it for Scully.

She is still shuffling papers. Mulder has been a part of these situations before; he should know the signs, what every gesture means. He may have even invented some of them. But for the first time, he is the sitting duck, not the well-prepared goose that can tap dance around the rest of them. He could be that well-prepared goose if he just knew if the woman in front of him was The One.

Experience tells him he should offer up the first few sentences if he wants to keep his position of power in this game. Now, he isn't sure he can even open his mouth. He is sitting, legs open, hands folded, almost locked. His left foot is bouncing. Christ, what if he really isn't in control here.

So far, she is still not giving anything away. She goes over his history with the FBI, then the years before, reading the highlights from the page, and then glancing up at him for a confirmation or denial of the facts.

Then she plucks a sheet from the yellow paper, held together with a broken butterfly clip. Figures. The Bureau will spend millions on public image but nothing on office supplies. He used to bring his own paper clips during the Bush administration.

"I understand you experienced some seizures recently."

Medical. Yellow. He should have known. In his most matter of fact voice, he doles out the medical details of his weekend. Agent Scully is only mentioned, peripherally, twice.

"And how are the medications working? There are some heavy side effects with these."

She is unthreatening and gentle. If he didn't know what she did for a living, he would think she might be from a church volunteer group. But there is a strength about her that he will not underestimate.

"Just headaches." He doesn't mention the monster that is forming in his head at this moment.

She notes this on one of the forms. By the looks of the paper from his vantage point, there are a lot of notes in a lot of corners in a lot of different handwriting. "Sleeping?"

"Not much."

She finally reaches back and drops the folder onto her desk. She swings back around in her chair and gives Mulder her undivided attention. Game time is over.

"I know you were somewhat resistant to being here but I'm glad that you came."

He tries not to seem as irritated as he feels. "I do what I'm told."

"Not from what I hear," she tells him with a glimmer of a smile, just enough to let him know he is among friends. Suspicion is the first wall she encounters from patients in this building. It is usually the hardest rock to break. After that, paths seem much clearer.

"I've been told that this is a part in a series of things I need to accomplish before I'll be let back in the field."

"Your partner is going on medical leave soon, I understand." She crosses one knee over the other.

It is now or never, Mulder thinks, sucking in a tight breath. "Is she one of your patients?" He cannot believe he has just stuttered. His throat is tightening up on him and soon he might as well speak in sign language.

Dr. Kosseff nods. A slight resignation in her voice tells Mulder all he needs to know. "Yes, she is."

Mulder sits up a little straighter. He's got a little gas left after all. "Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

"Normally, yes, but AD Skinner thought that this might be a better route considering Agent Scully's relationship with you."

_Relationship?_ What the hell did that mean?

"And the current time frame she is dealing with."

This one takes him a moment longer to translate. _'Scully may not have much time left so let's not waste it reinventing the wheel.'_

"What are your thoughts about this?"

A loaded question. He raises his hands as if to question the entire situation itself. "I don't think it is particularly necessary but if my being here helps Agent Scully then I will comply."

"Well, it's also a condition of your return to the field."

He nods. "I'm aware of that."

She says something he cannot quite make out. It is as if her voice is slowly floating away. He wants to ask her to repeat what she said but a sudden swirl of activity in his head sends him bolting forward instead. Like all the others, this attack takes him out of time and space until, mercifully, it begins to subside.

What frightens him the most when he finally comes out of it is that he is no longer in Dr. Kosseff office. He is in Skinner's office, sitting on Skinner's couch, drinking from a bottle of Skinner's water. And Skinner's voice is slowly drifting into his radar.

"…Mulder…"

Skinner's face is almost nose-to-nose with his. Mulder looks around to see who else is watching him but the room is empty

"Mulder, can you hear me?"

"Maybe if you weren't yelling in my ear," he manages to groan. Skinner pulls a chair over to the couch and sits a polite distance away. "Do you know what happened?"

He plows both hands through his hair. "I had another seizure?"

"We're not sure."

"We?"

"Doctor Kosseff thought it seemed more like an anxiety attack."

_Oh, please tell me I didn't start sobbing,_ he prays to any being with power who might be listening. He is about to ask what Skinner means when a worse question pops into his mind "How did I get up here?"

"Don't worry, nobody saw you. We used the Director's private elevator."

Mulder nods, grateful for this gift of privacy. Anybody seeing Spooky Mulder being loaded into the director's elevator would have had a field day. And the first order of business would have been telling Mrs. Spooky.

Skinner shoves the bottle of water back in his hand. "Finish this. Then I want you to get checked out by your doctor."

This might be a little tricky, he thinks to himself.

"You _do_ have a doctor, don't you?"

Has the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Unofficially, it's Scully."

"I'm not going to lie to her, Mulder. And neither are you."

He pushes himself forward to stand up. In a moment, he is on his feet, and holding onto Skinner's arm before he teeters over. "If there is nothing else, Sir, I'd like to go home and lie down."

He makes it as far as the door and thinks he may have a clear pathway to freedom but Skinner's hand is flat on the door.

"Just sit down a minute, Mulder."

There is a mixture of authority and concern in this order so he does as he is told without the usual resistance.

Skinner sits strategically on side of desk, hovering above him, but not in the usual _you-have-screwed-up_ way. "I'll rebook you another session with Doctor Kosseff."

"I can take care of that," Mulder informs him quietly.

"No, I will. I'd like the appointment made up by the end of day tomorrow, not the end of next month. "

"I can't tomorrow."

"Oh, you have some place to be? You're suspended from work, Mulder. If you want to get back to work, you'll be where I tell you and when. "

The door to the office almost flies open and Scully enters, followed by the pissed off secretary. She can usually control most of the bureau when it comes to the AD's privacy but Mulder and Scully are a different story. One of these days, they will take no for an answer, or, better yet, die trying.

"Great," Mulder moans sharply to himself.

"Mulder, what happened?" Scully demands, ignoring Skinner.

"I'm fine, Scully."

She faces their boss. "Doctor Kosseff says he'd had another attack."

"Anxiety," Skinner adds.

"Ketamine," Mulder corrects. Neither listens to him.

"I knew this was going to happen."

Mulder leans back. "Kill me now," he begs to the ceiling

"He is fine, Agent Scully," Skinner informs her. "We got him up here, he's had some water and I'm about to drive him home."

"I can do it."

_God no_, Mulder thinks. Being alone in a car with Skinner will be bad enough with nothing but silence. But Scully - there would be too many questions, too much doubt, too little trust in his ability to look after himself. Or her.

"No, Agent, you have work here. I will take him." The tone in his voice is enough to tell her that he isn't budging on this point.

"I'll call you later, Scully" Mulder promises. "Don't call me, if I don't answer I'll be asleep and you'll panic."

"I _don't _panic, Mulder," she informs him, clearly irritated..

He will let this go because he is a gentleman and she is only trying to help.

"Fine – well – I'll be in the office if anyone needs me." The Agent is resurfacing but not quickly enough for the Doctor to lean over and put the back of her hand on Mulder's cheek. He is cool. She will take this for what it is – a good sign – and hand over control to Skinner. She doesn't like leaving things this way – she would like to know how his health that morning has been, what brought on the attack, was it like the one she stumbled over behind the gas station or was this one medically induced.

But Skinner has the situation under control and she will quietly step over the metaphorical crumpled paper on the floor.

There is one parking spot left in front of the building and Skinner slides into it before an indecisive Honda can grab it.

"We're here," he says, ignoring the glare from the Honda driver. He has always been a 'you-snooze-you-loose' kind of a guy.

Mulder is staring far, far away out the passenger window. Skinner turns to see if there is anything to look at but there is nothing. Whatever has Mulder's attention is not in this world.

He call's Mulder's name one more time. When Mulder still doesn't answer, Skinner jams his elbow into his arm. "Mulder – we're here. Do you need any help getting upstairs?"

"_No_," comes the automatic reply. He does not need help getting to his apartment, getting through the day or getting through the rest of his life. He will no longer rely on anyone to do the job for him.

When Mulder turns back around, Skinner sees a disturbingly destroyed look in his eyes that scares the hell out of him until he realizes, with relief, what he is finally seeing.

"I'm so scared I'm going to lose her," Mulder barely whispers.

"I know, Mulder." Skinner says.

"What are you doing here?"

Mulder stands in the doorway for a moment, shakes the strangeness out of his head and continues into the office. Scully is looking up from the desk with a rarely seen look on her face.

"Nice to see you too, Agent Scully. I used to work here. You?"

She pushes glasses back on her head and sits back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap."

He drags a chair across the floor with an annoying screech and sits down. He is not used to the view from this side of the desk. The wall behind looks like a catchall for lost and found. In a way, he decides, just like he is.

"How did you get in here?" she asks

"Bribed a guard with my video collection A-C. I'm bored, Scully, there's nothing to do at home that I can't do here."

"Yes there is. It's called _resting_. You have never been able to grasp that concept here; I hoped you might latch onto it at home; where you have a bed, a couch; a coffee table to put your feet up. Any of this sound familiar?"

He ignores the sarcasm and leans forward to see what she is doing. There are forms under her writing arm, and if he didn't know better he would swear they were 902s. "What are you working on?"

"Paperwork." She puts her glasses back on and leans towards the computer again.

"What kind?"

"Skinner wants a complete report on our activities last weekend. Well, yours, to be specific."

His eyes narrow. "They aren't still going to lay any of this on you for not disclosing my condition sooner, are they?"

"Skinner managed to talk them out of that."

"It was a Sunday and you were off-duty. Whichever Federal Zombie you choose to chase around Rhode Island is your business." Mulder nods towards the paper on the desk. He is an equal opportunity pencil pusher. "Let me do it, Scully? I'm not fit for anything else."

She's not moving from behind the desk. "I've got it. Go home, Mulder. That's part of the deal."

The deal. Everyone in the building seems to have a stake in this deal. He goes, she stays. She goes, he stays. And life takes a radical turn towards hell.

"Besides," she adds without much thought, "You still need rest." She puts her glasses back on and resumes starting at the computer screen. "How are you feeling by the way?"

"Better."

"You don't look it." She shakes the mouse impatiently. This computer drives her crazy, it is so slow. Mulder won't replace it.

"Uh, you don't look that great yourself, Scully. Get much sleep, did we?"

"Shut up, Mulder, I'm not the one who …. " She looks up. The glasses come off again and land in a heap next to the mouse. "Never mind. I don't want to argue about this, it's a waste of time. Mine and yours."

"Of which I seem to have plenty to waste now."

She stares at him with deadly accuracy "Well, I don't."

He's not ready to play ball with these kinds of truths today. Instead, he yanks the legal size forms from under her arm and takes a look. Request for Medical Leave forms. She has made it halfway through the first one and included a start date.

It is for next Monday.

"Christ, Scully."

She reaches across the desk with her right arm stretched to the max but it doesn't help. He has leaned back in the chair and is studying the forms closely.

"Please give me the forms back, Mulder."

"You saw the file Skinner passed to me." He gets up and grabs it from the corner of the desk where she has conveniently buried it with less obvious books. "Have you even looked at this?"

Her eyes glance quickly at the file in his hand. "No."

"Why not? This is the one I told you about the other night." _When I was trying to talk you back to sleep after you had a nightmare at my place. Remember, he wants to blurt out. Remember those seconds when we were normal?_

She doesn't answer. She is too tired to go through this with him in person; she has exhausted herself with the conversations he wasn't present for. Now that the real thing is here, there isn't any energy left.

"Okay." He says in quiet defeat. He doesn't know where to look and his eyes dart everywhere but on her. "Well. I'll see you."

Scully just nods.

Mulder realizes that, for the first time in days, she is going to let him leave a room without warning him about his health, asking if he has a temperature, and warning him to take the medication. She hasn't even asked about side effects. Depression is nothing. Supreme irritation, that is what he's living with.

But now, she is going to let him leave this room un-nagged. Because he has put the pressure on her, she doesn't dare stick it back on him. Nevertheless, he wishes she would send him away with one parting instruction. It would make him feel less like his world is crumbling apart in tiny, invisible pieces. But her face is buried in the computer again and likely she will not show it again until he is well out of the building.

She can hear the elevator open. An unfamiliar male voice booms, "How's it shaking, Spooky!"

Scully pulls her glasses off and delicately places them on the desk so that she doesn't miss anything. There is no immediate reply from Mulder. This is good. She has never once seen him rise to the bait.

"You down here for a reason, Collins?" Mulder sounds tense.

Scully swings the chair towards the door.

"They told me this is where old desk lamps come to die."

"Go back to the main floor, take the west elevator. It opens in storage".

Silence.

"Do you really work down here, Spooky? They always said you were tucked away out of sight, I just thought that meant an abandoned men's room someplace."

More silence. Scully can hear footsteps approaching and she swings the chair back to the desk. And pretends to be working.

In a moment a man called Collins is at the door of their office.

"Can I help you?" Scully coolly asks, folding her hand tensely.

"You gotta be Scully - well, Mrs. Spooky to the rest of us. We've heard a lot about you."

"Have you now?"

Collins takes a step inside and looks around the office with wonder. "So this is it, huh? You guys give tours?"

Mulder appears behind Collins just in time to see his partner's eyes narrow in for the kill.

Scully stands up and walks up to the man. He is Mulder's height and twice the width. She could squash him like a bug but today she will go easy on him.

"Turn around and go back up the elevator from where you came or every agent in this building will hear a story that I knee'd you in the groin and made you cry. Understand, Agent?"

Collins looks between her and Mulder. Mulder is staring at Scully as if she has just turned into cheese. Both men are edging away from her, with slow, cautious steps.

Finally Collins turns and sniffs. "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky. Pair of you belong down here." An elbow into Mulder's arm and he is meandering out the door, trying to keep whatever shreds of cool he has left.

Mulder stays where he is, almost gawking at her with a mixture of fear and respect.

"Go home, Mulder," is all she has to say.

"No," he says. "We're not letting dicks like Collins come in here just so we can roll up the shop and walk away. We still have work here to finish, Scully. And this is right up your line of expertise."

"I don't know if you've noticed at all but I'm not 100 percent these days, Mulder. I don't have it in me to go into one of these endless loops of planes, towns, rental cars to chase something or someone that will inevitably elude us in the end anyway."

She has floored him. She now considers their work a game of hide and seek that has been rigged from the beginning. A handful of trick candles on the cake that drop them on their asses each time they try to blow them out. A stronger man would ask when she stopped caring. He is not a stronger man today.

She looks away from him and down at the desk. "Please don't do this, Mulder. I am doing the right thing for me."

He slams the file down on the desk and storms out of the office while Scully sits there, not believing she could be so carless to let the forms go anywhere near him. Letting Mulder down is something she has no experience with; she has spent the last four years trying to convince herself that this isn't the case. That she can let anyone down – even Mulder – and not wade in guilt.

Is she doing the right thing? He doesn't think so. But isn't it time to move beyond what he thinks is best for her. Skinner said the same thing when she told him she would be leaving next week. You do what you think is best for you. Code for_, it's a crappy idea_.

**END OF CHAPTER 6**


	7. DEMONS - Afterwards CH 7

**CHAPTER 7**

They sit at opposite ends of the black leather couch. They try not to look at her and they make a point of not looking at each other. Their body language tells Dr. Kosseff everything she needs to know before the session even starts.

Dana, closest to her, is sitting up straight; her hands are folded loosely and she is stealing fast looks at her partner. Her eyes meet the Doctor's for a moment and dart away. The doctor doesn't need to ask if she feels guilty for having him drawn into this room.

Mulder is nervously is trying to look calm. What gives him away is the number of times his left hand goes to his tie knot. This, she thinks, is the real version of the agent she met two days ago. The cool one simply wanted to keep up the façade; both versions know he has everything to lose.

"Are you feeling better, Agent Mulder?"

He looks up as if she has just asked him the colour of his underwear. "What? Oh. Yes."

"Good. I'm sorry our session was cut short. I think that having both of you here at the same time might be a better way to go, though. Officially you are both here because your immediate supervisor noticed signs of tension between you and he is concerned that this will affect your ability to work as a team."

They both shoot each other a fast, puzzled glance. She quickly continues to make sure they know where she is going with this. She wants to get everything out there while there is still time.

"Unofficially, AD skinner is worried about both of you, individually and as partners and he has asked me to work with you before things become harder. Agent Mulder, how do you feel about being back here?"

She could swear she hears him choke at the question.

He shugs. "No choice."

"Would you like to talk about what happened?"

"Not particularly."

Her notes are on her lap and she tries to get a look at the last entry. Agent Mulder was pulled off Agent Collins in the basement of the building by Agent Gibson, Collins' partner. From other reports she has heard, Collins had made the mistake of saying something offensive about Agent Scully. If that is true, it would make perfect sense he would land on this agent with all his might. Dana has noted how he can put up with any amount of taunting about himself but if she is caught in the crossfire of the words, he will jump in.

"You went after an agent for inappropriate comments he made about Agent Scully."

_Tried to bash his head into the linoleum_ is how one witness put it but she will leave out the editorials.

"Yes."

"Mulder, it wasn't even offensive," Scully protests. She turns to Dr. Kosseff. "He was tired and took it out on Collins."

"And that's why I'm here," Mulder concludes neatly.

Dr. Kosseff gives him this one and put her notes back down. Then her attention is back on them. "Fox, how do you feel about Dana's illness?"

His eyes bulge at the stupidest question he has ever been asked. "How do I _feel_ about it?"

"It's not as simple a question as it sounds."

"Fine. I don't like it."

"What specifically don't you like about it?"

He and Scully exchange another set of puzzled glances. Dr. Kosseff knows Scully trusts her. If she is to earn his trust, it will have to begin with puzzles like these.

His left knee begins bouncing again. The rest of him leans forward. "You know, this might not have been such a good idea. This is Scully's time and me being here isn't going to help."

He starts to get up. Scully says gently, "Sit down, Mulder." They look at each other, an entire conversation happening without a word being said. He sits back down, this time not as far away.

Dr. Kosseff had expected an early escape attempt but not so soon. "Thanks, Fox," she says. "This isn't going to get any easier but I think it's important for both of you, not just Dana. This isn't an exercise in futility – it's about getting you two on the same page with regards to Dana's health and Fox, your well-being with all of this going on."

The room is silent except for the noise his bouncing knee makes.

"If you had to point out a single problem in your partnership right now, what would that one thing be?"

He twists the tie again, looking as though he is debating whether or not to throw his partner under the bus. "Scully wants to leave. I think it's too soon."

"That's not the only problem, Mulder," Scully adds.

"Do we really have to do this here?"

"Yes. We do because the minute we leave this office you and I, most likely, will never speak of this again. It's what we do. We can talk for hours about any subject that interests us but neither of us knows how to open up and I may not have time to wait, Mulder. I'm not leaving unfinished business here, not with you. I'm not leaving things ….unsaid..."

She stops before she goes too far. It is a pattern with Scully these days. There is a limit before the emotions take over and hers is remarkably short these days.

Mulder is staring hard at his folded hands. These words, final in intent, are not what he wants to hear. He drops his face into his hands. After a moment, he surfaces for air and tilts his head in her direction. "Why do you think you have to lie to me?"

Early on in the partnership, he had made it clear that he didn't want her to think she had to keep anything from him where something important was involved. This was when her pride was young and misplaced. Now, it was older and battered and drifting further out of her sight.

"Like your nosebleeds." He clears his throat so that his vocal cords do not desert him. "Why don't you tell me when you have a nosebleed instead of making some excuse and leaving the room? I know they've been getting worse."

Scully has told Dr. Kosseff several times how hard it is for her to see, _'the frightened look on Mulder's face whenever one starts_'. He is like a rock she doesn't want to pick up. Solid, hard on the surface but underneath is sheer, helpless terror.

"And your doctors' appointments and tests - why can't you just tell me when you have them? I can go with you, pick you up if you can't drive home; anything."

"My mother has been doing that."

He could seriously wring her neck when she says things like this. "That's not what this is about."

She looks over at him oddly. "I didn't think you wanted that kind of involvement."

"What kind of involvement did you _think_ I want?"

She doesn't have an answer she is brave enough to give him.

"Do you want me to ask how they went? Or should I just guess? Silence is a Yes? That kind of thing? Or would you just tell me everything is fine, like you always do." He is on a roll and by the looks of him, he may not be able to put the brakes on easily. He will be like Fred Flintstone; balls of his feet dug in so deep that more and more dirt and dust will fly before he can skid to a complete stop.

"I don't have to tell you everything, Mulder."

"No, just what you can get away with."

"Oh, you tell me everything? You did a fine job last weekend, taking off for Rhode Island. And then when you make decisions as futile as that ... it is as if you don't think that there's anyone but you affected. But I am. I worry about you enough as it is."

"You mean my death wish?" He turns to Dr. Kosseff. "Scully thinks I've got unconscious plans to off myself."

Dr. Kosseff takes in a breath. "Do you?"

"No. I don't." He turns his attention back to Scully. "I don't have a death wish; I do what I do because I have to. It's my job. It's my life."

"It's choice Mulder, all of those choices you make. We can't compartmentalize in this job. You and I don't work that way. I'm Mrs. Spooky, remember? I rely on you and you rely on me."

"Oh, and how have you relied on me, Scully? How many times have you _not_ been honest with me when I ask how you are and get 'fine' as an answer? My head is not totally up my own ass, and if it is, it at least goes far enough to see you from the other side trying to be strong and independent. But this isn't an independent job we have."

"Sometimes I wonder if you remember that every time you make a decision and disappear."

"I know I leave without telling you, if that's what you're getting at."

"Don't make it sound so simple."

Mulder sits up further on the couch and turns towards her. "I thought you liked this simple. I mean you've got us picking fights now, only they aren't the fights we need to be picking. Not the real one, anyway."

"Which is…."

He looks at her dead on. "You want to let go. I don't want you to let go. I think it's too soon. Work, life all of it."

Now it is Scully who looks as if she might bolt at any moment. "You be in my shoes, you tell me you would do or think differently, then we'll talk. Until then, this is mine."

"I have been in your shoes, Scully. You pulled me out."

She returns his stare. "And what if I'm not there to pull you out again?"

Dr. Kosseff hopes Scully doesn't let this disappear. And she doesn't. With courage, she says, "I don't trust you not to do something dangerous if …. If I'm not here."

He sits back. "You don't even trust me enough to let me in. I don't know what you want from me. I think you want me to leave you alone but … I can't tell. I can't read you anymore."

And Dr. Kosseff realizes this is what also scares this man. He is watching his partner disappear into the sandstorm, piece by piece until she is almost unrecognizable.

"Just tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to stop running off, and looking for cures that aren't there."

"Who says they aren't there?"

"I do. Science does. Sometimes I want to tell you things but you get a look in your eye, it's there Mulder, and its fear. It's like watching myself when I get the test results. And when I tell you anything … you don't push - so neither do I."

"I thought I was trying to give you room."

"No you're not. It is as if you are trying to put off hearing what you can't do anything about."

"How would you know? You've never given me a chance to hear something negative."

"What about last week? At the New Horizon?"

"The psychiatric center —?" He stops himself. "Is this about me not driving you to the hospital when you wanted to get checked out? I asked you if you wanted a ride – you said no. The suspect needed to be found, I thought you understood that."

"That's not what I'm talking about...Just forget it."

Something is off here. She is letting this go too easily. "What else happened that night, Dana?" Dr. Kosseff asks.

Mulder is moving uncomfortably. "Scully?"

"It's nothing, Mulder."

Mulder raises his hands in exasperation. "See, this is what I get."

Dr. Kosseff gives him a look that suggests he let this play out. He sits back and waits. And worries. And tries again. "Scully, what happened?"

"It's nothing," she whispers as if he is disturbing her in the middle of a movie to ask about the weather.

"Did something happen to you?" He is leaning forward, turned towards her. "You're starting to scare me, Scully."

Scully is looking between her head and the lamp. Her body is turned away from her partner. Dr. Kosseff can't tell if she is ashamed or frightened. "I saw Harold."

Mulder's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"When I got into the car - in the mirror. I saw him, Mulder. Just for a moment, and then he was gone."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, God!"

"It's obviously shaken you – why would you want to keep that to yourself all of this time?"

"Why do you think? You know what that means. The chain continues, just as it's supposed to." Carefully, she drags the side of her hand across her eyes.

"Scully, I'm trying to understand – when you told me about seeing the first person – I know I lit into you but I wasn't thinking. And then you just walked away."

Her entire face zeros in on his as she blurts out the heart of this matter. "And you didn't follow."

The room is silent.

Mulder is dumbstruck. His mouth is open as if she has just reached across and slapped him. Finally, he says quietly, "I didn't …. " He isn't proud of his behaviour that night, of what he said and how he said it and that what he wanted to say was far too difficult to even put into words. So, he let her walk past him, down the ramp and into the dark by herself. Again. He should have followed her to the car, to at least make sure she was all right to drive. But he didn't. He should have apologized but he didn't. He didn't want to have hurt feelings because she kept something from him. But he did.

Scully clears her throat quietly. "There are ... there are times I... when I have to step back for reasons - such as this illness - I feel that I am letting you down.

Mulder's mouth drops just a little lower. "You think _you're_ letting _me_ down?"

"I think that I may give this possibility more thought than I should."

"You're kidding, right? Scully, how could you ever – Me, I'm the one who should be thinking that I'm letting you down…."

"Your reaction to my decision to leave work sooner than I'd planned, for example. You don't think that rang of disappointment? "

"No. Yes. I was disappointed – I am disappointed - not in you. Never in you. Just the decision. Which I still think is a load of crap."

Dr. Kosseff sits forward. "Why do you think it's a load of crap, Fox?"

"Because she – we – there is still a lot of work to do. Maybe they aren't cases that will change the world but they still need to be looked into."

"You can't do that on your own? Or perhaps ask Personnel for a suitable assistance?"

Scully is shifting uncomfortably. Mulder is looking at the doctor as if she is the world's biggest idiot.

"No," he finally says, calm screaming through his voice. "This is something _Scully and I_ have created."

"You don't need me, Mulder," she tells him quietly, as if she has been waiting in the wings to deliver this crucial line.

This time, he turns to her as if she is the idiot. "I don't _need_ you?" he repeats, as if to finalize his judgment. "That's crap, Scully. How the hell have I gone as far as I have since you came along?"

She is looking at him with something resembling surprise. Puzzled surprise.

Dr. Kosseff takes a chance with the silence. "How do think you would let Fox down?"

"By not being here. By not being... whole. I don't want him to see me as … vulnerable. In _any_ way."

"Do you ever feel he has disappointed you?"

Mulder makes a noise in his throat.

"Mulder – he disappoints me when he does these things."

Mulder sighs. He suspects where this is going. "Scully…."

"You make me think that you don't value your life as much as you value mine. That's what disappoints me about you."

"I told you, I don't have a death wish."

"No, but you don't care enough to …. I'm in the fight of my life, Mulder, and I can't sit there every day and watch you and wait for the next far-fetched idea to cross your desk that will help you recover memories from twenty years ago. I need you here. _Now_. For me. This weekend was the last straw. I can't do it anymore."

"And that's why you want to leave?"

"Partly. And not to have you watch me ... deteriorate."

The doctor asks quietly, "Because of how that makes you feel or how you think it would make him feel."

"Both."

"Who are you to say how I would feel?" Mulder asks. "This is your game, but I'm still in it and I don't like you quitting because you think I don't want to watch you deteroriate or so you don't have to watch me watch you."

"What do you want from Dana, Fox?"

"Don't try and talk me into staying longer."

"Fox? What do you need?"

"Don't try to fool me. I can handle this, Scully, you know that. "

The appointment is over and Mulder and Scully leave the office like two dazed survivors digging out from a near fatal plane crash and not sure what the hell is supposed to happen next. It's grueling. She feels as though she has ambushed him. He feels as if he had his knees knocked out from behind. But he has been heard, and perhaps that is worth the jolt.

The closer they get to the elevator that takes them to the basement, the more they each realize how badly they do not want to go down to that office together. The shared office. Everything about them in this building, washrooms notwithstanding, is shared and right now, that is the hardest thing to bear.

He wants to get away from her as quickly and delicately as possible. And he knows she wants to be away from him as much, if not more.

Their index fingers arrive at the down button at the same time. She withdraws hers. He withdraws his. Finally, he jams it back on the button.

She says something but he misses it.

Mulder leans his head down towards her. "What?"

In a slightly stronger voice, Scully says, "Thank you for doing that. "

"Oh." He straightens up. "Sure."

_Fine. Whatever._

The elevator arrives. Scully steps on first. She turns and sees Mulder still standing on the other side. He has that look on his face. Concern matched with confusion.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she tells him flatly.

After that 45-minute session they've just barely managed to crawl out of? He doubts that very much.

"I'm going to head out," he stammers. "Have to see one of the doctors for some – thing. Prescription. I'll try and call you later." He has not felt more like a hardhearted bastard than at this moment.

The door starts to close. Scully slams an arm against it. "My phone isn't charged so if I don't answer… "

He feels the thud. She has just lied back to him.

A line from a song creeps into his brain. Something about _hard to hug someone who has just hurt you_.

Neither of them see the look of relief on the other's face when they are finally alone.

Two days pass and neither has made contact with the other. Each has left polite, safe messages on the other's voice mail – usually when they know the other person is not at home. Skinner needs a follow-up on a report Scully wrote three months ago. It needs to be in his hands by Friday. As a rule, both agents are expected to work on the report, even if only one officially submits it; but Scully doesn't bother consulting Mulder. This would normally piss him off and she would normally include him but normal went out the window the moment they emerged from Dr. Kosseff's office

Skinner shows up at Mulder's door one morning at nine o'clock, dressed to kill, briefcase in hand. His visit is to be a short one and his appearance makes this crystal clear; he has places-to-go, people-to-see.

Mulder - standing there in a tee shirt and an old pair of track pants - does not.

"Coffee, sir?" Mulder mumbles as he steps aside to let Skinner in.

Skinner puts his briefcase on the table. "No thank you. Just came by to check on a few things."

"'Things' as in me?"

"Among others." He looks around the darkened apartment. There is a blanket and pillow lying crushed on the couch. "Do you always sleep this late?"

"No – yes –" He drags his fingers through his wildly standing hair as he works through the right answer. "Since I've been officially put on medical leave, if that's what you mean." He has had enough sleep-ins lately to know that nine am is no longer considered late; nine am seems earlier every single morning.

Skinner slowly walks into the living room, looking around like a perspective buyer who is trying to decide whether to buy or bulldoze. "I hear you had a successful session with Dr. Kosseff," he says, settling into the armchair.

"Depends how you define successful." Mulder drops into the couch and puts his bare feet onto the coffee table. He will be all about body language if that is what it takes to send his boss away with the impression that he is doing _just great_. Just before Skinner had woke him up with three booming knocks, Mulder was having one of the dreams that kept happening right after the incident in Rhode Island. The kind where everyone, Scully, especially, was in trouble and about to die. Except for Mulder, who was sitting on the rock, trying to move but not able to do a thing but watch.

"Success is defined by how many items on the list you've been able to keep up with."

"So you are checking up on me."

"If you want to call it that."

"An Assistant Director who still makes house calls," Mulder sighs.

"If you want to call it that." Skinner repeats stoically. He folds his hands across his stomach. "Any seizures?"

"No."

"You're still taking your medication?"

"Yes." God, he feels like an idiot. An idiot child who has dumped himself into this entire mess.

"Any side effects?"

"The occasional headache."

Skinner nods once as he glances around the living room. The shades are still drawn. "Is it always this dark in here?"

"I crack open a window once in a while." Mulder should know not to test Skinner's sense of humour this early – or late – in the morning. But today, he can't help himself. He is bored, he is tired, and he is everything a man of his nature should not be. And most of all, though he will barely acknowledge this beyond a possibility, he is terrified of what his life is holding over him.

"Do you spend your days here?"

There is a look in his eye, a deadly serious look which slowly begins to make sense to Mulder. "I'm fine, Sir. I am dressed by ten. Scully's still got me going to get tests every other day. I'm not depressed and hiding here in the dark."

"Good. Scully hasn't heard from you in a day or two. She was worried."

"She's got the phone number. The address too."

"Which," Skinner says, taking Mulder's cue, "brings me to the subject of your session."

"Couple's therapy," Mulder corrects snidely.

Skinner lets this pass. "Dr. Kosseffwants to see you again next week. Monday at ten."

"Just me?"

"Both of you."

He grabs the pillow next to his elbow and rams it into his face. "I can't go through that again," he groans loudly.

"It's part of the deal."

"Is Scully still leaving early?"

"I think so."

"Then what's the point?" He flips the pillow to the side.

Skinner watches it fall and tumble once over a pair of worn out, size twelve jogging shoes. He watches Mulder sit forward and rub the palms of his hands deep into his eyes. He watches the clock on the wall turn to 10:09. Skinner should be in a finance meeting with Warrens right now. It was a last minute request that he attend so he did not feel terrible asking Kimberly to cancel on his behalf. Finance bores the shit out of him because of the way exact numbers morph into fuzzy, inexact explanations.

"The other day …." He begins quietly. "You told me you were scared to death of losing her. Don't start now because that is what will happen if you give up."

"She's already given up."

"On herself maybe. But not on you. Not yet."

Skinner makes the move to get to his feet. "Don't be stubborn about this, Mulder. You know as well as I do that she needs to know all is not lost.

Mulder has never seen Scully give up on herself. Ever. Or him. And now, it is beginning to happen. "Do you know where she is today?"

"They sent her to Quantico to do some research."

"Research? On what?"

Skinner stares at him. _None of your business_, the look says.

Mulder gets up and follows him to the door. "Don't suppose she said how she thought the session went."

"Go to the session next week and find out."

And with that, AD Skinner is out of the apartment and out of sight.

Mulder closes the door behind him and stares at the dark, messy apartment before him. He hasn't noticed until now how dark this place can become. And he suddenly realizes he has begun to hate the dark.

"Scully, it's me."

He is sitting in a library, the lone person at a big table in a corner. He knows he is not supposed to make cell phone calls in this place but since when does he give a shit about what other people say he can and cannot do.

"Why are you whispering? Where are you?"

He can hear the fatigue in her voice. But there is something else going on that he can't quite identify. "Library at the bureau."

There is a pause. "Oh. What are you doing there?"

"Doing some research. What are you doing?"

Another pause. "Why?"

"Because I want to send a camera crew over to film it."

He could swear he hears her smile.

"Sorry. I'm at my mother's. My brother is visiting."

This suddenly explains the hesitation from her end of the call. He dares to breath in. "Which brother?"

" … Bill."

Bill - the brother who hates Mulder more than war and pestilence.

"I just called to see how you are doing."

"I've been meaning to call you, Mulder, but it's been … busy. Work. My brother…."

"Visiting … Got it." he says in his best good-sport voice.

"I'm coming into the office tomorrow… maybe I'll see you there."

_Maybe__s_. They are down to '_Maybes_'? '_Maybe'_s are for first dates when you've made up your mind there won't be a second.

"Sure."

Her voice lowers. There is someone in the room with her. Probably the asshole brother. "Mulder…"

_Please don't ask if I'm alright,_ he begs silently.

The phone rustles. There are voices in the background fading in and out. Mrs. Scully is asking if anyone wants more coffee. He can tell that Scully is edging her way out of the kitchen and onto the back porch; the only place she can take a call without being overheard. He has been in this house, in that back porch once before when he helped Scully and her mother move an old garden swing into it. She had bought it at a garage sale and needed more strength than she thought. So she called her daughter. And her daughter, who could move a car if necessary, gave up and called her partner. Her partner left a documentary on wolverines and drove right over. The swing was in the porch in ten minutes. Mrs. Scully was eternally grateful. Scully was appreciative but cool. Mulder shrugged it off as nothing. And that was the last time he was in that house.

In a moment, Scully is back on the phone. There must still be someone nearby because she still talks in a whisper. She takes him by surprise when she pauses and quietly says, "I miss you."

A moment passes where Mulder does not to know how to respond. Such statements are usually for the middle of the nights; not in broad daylight, when anyone can hear.

"I know that sounds stupid…"

"It's not stupid," he says, his voice as quiet as hers. "I … me too."

This should be the point where one of them tells the other how inane this entire dynamic is; but he still needs to take her cues, especially when she is offering such dangerous information as this.

"I got an okay from one of the doctors to go back to work," he tells her like an old pal catching up another on the recent events of a carefree life.

"Mulder, that's great. I'm sorry I was so hard on you but … this is good news."

_The deal_. Another subject to stay far away from.

A librarian, sixty odd years and full of misplaced authority passes by Mulder's table. "Sir, cell phones are not permitted here."

Mulder could come up with several helpful replies about what she can do with his cell phone but he keeps them to himself and assures her that this is federal business and that he has moved away other patrons as far as possible. He flips his badge. Maybe the librarian will recognize the name and realize she is dealing with _the _Spooky Mulder.

When the librarian is well out of earshot, he brings the phone back to his ear and whispers, "You still there, Scully?"

"Still here, Mulder."

"Last week … that session. …" His throat is tightening with every word that squeezes itself out. "That was supposed to be as weird as it was ….wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Do you suppose that's what middle age couples are like?"

"Are you suggesting that we are turning into a middle age couple?"

There's a lilt in her voice that tells him she isn't being cruel. They can only dream of being privileged enough to grow into boring middle-age together.

Her mother's voice fades into the foreground again. "Dana, ask Fox if he'd ….." And the rest of a sentence becomes a muffle behind the palm of a hand that has just slapped itself over the handset. He knows she is telling Dana to ask Mulder for dinner. And he knows Scully is saving him the anguish of pretending to have a _really good excuse_. And he is grateful.

She returns to him. "Sorry about that."

"Dinner – third most important meal of the day."

"I'd better go make an appearance. I'm – I'm glad you called."

"Me too."

"Good night, Mulder." she says quietly. It's not the quiet hush when you are trying to keep others from hearing. There is nobody around on the back porch to hear. It's the soft kind of hush you use when the person is drifting to sleep and you don't want to wake them.

"'night, Scully."

**END OF CHAPTER 7**


	8. DEMONS - Afterwards CH 8

**CHAPTER 8**

A day later, Scully is feeling like crap. This figures because her over protective brother is in town and he will make a big deal of anything that is different. He can even find a way to blame Mulder if he works hard enough at it. They were supposed to go shopping for Scully's new nephew. Scully was too exhausted so they have stayed at Scully's for the afternoon. Their mother has joined them. All is well until there is a familiar knock on the door.

Bill thinks it is another Jehovah witness. His neighborhood in San Diego is besieged with them. Mrs. Scully thinks it must be the phone repairman. The phone has been scratchy for a week now and Dana finally called about it this morning. Scully thinks it is her neighbor returning the electric drill.

Nobody expects to see Mulder standing there, a look of horror covering his face as it dawns on him that Scully isn't alone.

"Mulder," she almost whispers as she stands in front of his shocked self. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to drop – you said you wanted to read this study –the -" He leans towards her and says in a low voice, "I'm sorry Scully, I didn't think you might have company."

_Why the hell wouldn't I_, she doesn't say, anxiety getting digging away. It's when she sees the look on his face that the internal dialogue turns sympathetic.

"Hello, Fox, come in and join us," Mrs. Scully says, getting up.

Bill stays where he is on the couch. He is not pleased. He detests this man with all the power a body can summon.

Scully can only pat her partner on the chest in that sympathetic way that tells him he is trapped and, by the way, Godspeed.

He nervously makes the uncomfortable trek into the living room. Scully's mother greets him with a quick hug; her brother would like to greet him with a quick slug. Instead, being the gentleman he is, Bill stands up and extends his hand. "Fox."

It sounds so creepy when he uses Mulder's first name. Mrs. Scully is the only one on the planet who seems to use his name without ruining the effect. Scully hasn't called him this since that night in the car four years ago. He would like to hear it from her again, see if it still has the same charm.

"Mulder, do you want some coffee?" Scully asks, casually directing him away from her brother's chair.

Mulder misses the glare she throws to Bill that all but seethes, _don't you dare_.

"Oh – no thanks, I've got to -"

Mrs. Scully waves him in her direction. "Come in here and help me put on another pot."

"Who does he think he is coming over in the _middle of the day_?"

"My friend, Bill, that's who he thinks he is. My friend. In _my_ home."

"Why isn't he at work? He keeps his own hours now? Must be nice!"

Scully is losing her patience. She knows she shouldn't let her brother bother her so much.

"He's on medical leave," she blurts out, praying this isn't loud enough to reach the kitchen.

"For what, brain injury?"

There has rarely been a good way to both explain Mulder and defend him at the same time. "He's got his own problems too, Bill, things that don't have_ anything_ to do with me."

"Forgive me if I can't quite dab the old tear ducts."

Sometimes he can sound so much like their father, it's frightening. Now, he sounds just like Mulder. That is scarier.

"Is there something going on with you and him? And don't give me any _we work together_ line."

"No, there isn't."

"Do you wish there was?"

"For crying out loud, stop making assumptions about things you don't understand. Like Mulder. "

"Oh, I understand guys like him just fine. Did you see his face when he realized you weren't alone?"

"If he looked any way, it was because he saw _you_ here."

Bill pauses to reign in his irritation. Calmly, he continues. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have feelings for him, I just wish you'd look at him with a bit more detachment. Objectivity. Whatever you want to call it. He's dangerous to you, Dana. You're going through so much, and he just adds more pressure to your life right now."

"That's not fair, Bill."

"Did you tell him about San Diego?"

The way her fierce eyes dart from his gives Bill his answer.

"You might want to drop it in his ear sometime, Dana. He's going to figure it out when he lets himself in one day and sees you're gone."

"I haven't decided yet. And don't you dare say a word to him. "

"Why? After all he's done to this family, you want to spare his feelings? You know, mom will stay with you wherever you are. And she only puts up with him because he's important to you. She doesn't trust him anymore than I do."

"Bill, stop talking. We can discuss Mulder and Mom and everything else you seem to have bottled up _later_."

Mulder marvels at this woman sometimes. As well as being the source of Scully's subtlety and kindness, Mrs. Scully knows how to rescue an unarmed man from certain verbal assault. And Mrs. Scully knows it gives Dana enough time to properly warn her brother to keep his comments, insults and glares to himself.

Mrs. Scully peers into the fridge, "How have you been feeling?" she asks over her shoulder.

"Much better, Thank you."

She stands up and puts the new carton of milk on the counter. "I'm glad to hear it."

Does she know? He will always be asking himself this question; Scully will always keep the mystery. Mrs. Scully looks a little guilty. Maybe she does. Like her daughter, Mrs. Scully is a terrible liar.

"I've been given the go-ahead for work."

"That's wonderful news," she says, glancing around Mulder's arm for a fast look at the living room. Dana and Bill are sitting again. Whatever words they had seem to be over. This is an extra burden none of them need, Mulder included.

"How has Sc-Dana been? I haven't spoken much to her the last few days."

Mrs. Scully looks surprised. Maybe she is. "She's not feeling very well today. We were supposed to be out on a shopping trip – I think she is fine, overall."

And she is lying. Mulder doesn't have to guess at this. And, no doubt, she is under orders from Scully to keep any kind of negative news from Mulder. He wishes to God Scully would stop trying to protect him like this.

"She keeps so much to herself. I'd hoped maybe she might start to open up to you a little more. She's closer to you than anyone else in this world."

She says this so casually as she pours milk into the serving cup.

Mulder doesn't know if she means this as a compliment or a statement of fact. "I don't know about that," he replies awkwardly.

"That's why I'm glad Bill is here. Dana is bending over backwards to protect you and I, but Bill is a different story. He can draw her into battle when she becomes too closed off."

They return to the living room. Dana and Bill must have come to some temporary truce because they are now talking about their brother's children.

"You haven't met Charles yet have you," Bill asks as Mulder sinks next to Scully on the couch. There is a blanket over her legs and he wonders how much energy it is costing her to sit out here, defending both their honours.

"No, I haven't."

"He's coming in a few days," Scully fights back a yawn.

"He's the nice one," Bill adds sarcastically just as his mother throws him a look.

Mulder is getting an enclosed feeling here, dodging verbal bullets, and being out numbered three to one by Scullys.

Without fanfare, Scully's hand gently lands on his lap for a moment. It's a familiar, intimate gesture and he realizes his leg is bouncing nervously. He stops the motion and nods at her in thanks.

Of course, Bill doesn't miss a second of this. "You ever been to San Diego, Fox?"

"Bill," his mother warns.

"Once or twice."

"Be sure to come out anytime. Dana would love to see you."

Mulder hears Scully groan, "_Christ_" under her breath.

"Scully?"

"Nothing is settled," she tells him quietly.

"Trying to get Dana and Mom settled out there for the next couple of months. We've got an amazing cancer hospital. Cutting edge."

"So does Washington," Mulder counters.

Scully's low voice growls, "I said nothing was settled, Bill."

"What are you waiting for, Dana? His blessing?"

Mulder stands up and tries to look civil. "It was good seeing you again, Mrs. Scully."

"Mulder—" Scully tosses the blanket aside and stomps after him in her oversized slippers. She catches up to him at the door and leads him into the hallway. "I haven't mentioned it to you because…." She closes the door behind her. "I wanted to talk to you. I just haven't found a time when both of us aren't off our games."

"Scully, it doesn't matter. You need to be with your family."

"But you _are also_ -" She doesn't finish the sentence. Either he knows the rest of it without the words, or he doesn't.

A neighbour from two doors down appears with an arm full of groceries. He gives them the once over and before disappearing into his apartment. He has seen Mulder around and has decided he is the shifty boyfriend.

"Listen," Mulder says, "There's something we need to talk about and now is as good a time as any. I think you should transfer your medical power of attorney to your mother or your brother."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

Her tone takes him by surprise. "It's obvious, Scully. There are certain decisions your mother and brother should be making."

"Jesus, Mulder, I asked _you_. Not them. Nothing has changed."

"You want to look me in the eye and say that? Your brother is your brother and should the worst come to pass, on top of everything else, the last thing your mother would need is him and I in a pissing contest over your wishes."

It's a reasonable fear. Bill would fight to the death for his family. "I have made my wishes known to them. He knows you have my medical power of attorney. And should worst come to pass, I trust you to make those decisions, hopefully with input from my family but if that isn't possible, then I trust just you to do it alone. I always have."

Mulder thinks that now would be the time to ask about San Diego and if she is going to go but he doesn't think he can handle the answer if it is 'yes'. Suddenly, that one word is the word he fears the most from her, especially as she looks at him with that desperate expression that wants him to understand. The problem is, he does understand.

He steps back as if she is contaminated. "I don't want to talk about this now."

"Mulder, I'm going to call you tonight when we can talk. Mulder – what's wrong"

He can hear her saying something else, but the words are disappearing into his head. There is a sudden alarm in her voice. He can hear her, and he knows what is happening. He is dropping to his knees and trying to breathe. She is calling his name, crouching next to him one minute, and then yelling back into the apartment for someone to cal 911.

Bill and Mrs. Scully fly out into the hallway. Scully has eased him onto his back, talking to him steadily, loosening his clothing.

"I've called 911, they are on their way," her mother says crouching down for a closer look. "I thought you said his seizures had stopped."

"I thought they had. Mulder – Can you hear me? "

Through a panic stricken face, he fights for air but nods. He can see and hear everything. Including Bill Scully's size thirteen boot, inches away from his head.

The word _seizure_ floats through Bill's head and he remembers his remark earlier. Timing is everything.

"Dana, go get dressed before they get here." Her mother orders. "We'll follow them to the hospital."

She doesn't move. "I'm going with him."

"No you're not," her mother and brother both bark at the same time. Weakened immune systems don't thrive in enclosed ambulances where germs have no place to go.

"I'm going to wait downstairs," Mrs. Scully says. "Dana, get changed. Bill, stay with Fox." Her grownup children wordlessly do as they are told. She can't remember the last time she had issued orders so quickly, and had them obeyed so quickly.

Bill watches his sister as if he is in the stands at a baseball game. His has never seen his sister, The Doctor, in professional mode before and it would be impressive sight if she weren't taking Mulder's pulse with one hand and pushing the hair back on his forehead with the other. ."

"I don't need an ambulance," Mulder says, breathless

"Yes. You do."

That tone again. She means business.

"Dana, go change," her brother says sharply, He waits until Scully has disappeared back into the apartment before crouching down next to Mulder, who has never felt more like a sitting duck than at this moment.

"Would you tell your sister I'm fine." He tries to push himself to his feet.

Bill's hand presses his shoulder back down. "She wants you to wait for the ambulance," he says coolly. "So you will wait."

Mulder doesn't argue. His head is turning circles inside again. Shit, he is thinking, where is Scully.

"You know something, Mulder," Bill says. He pauses a moment and stares at the man he hates. "For everything that my sister invests into you - this devotion or whatever you want to call it - you had damn well better be worth it."

"You almost ready, Mulder?" a familiar voice calls from the other side of the curtain.

Mulder is sitting on the side of the gurney, pulling a grey t-shirt over his head. His pants are on. Now all he has to do is tackle the socks. He can't get over how sore his back from landing on Scully's hallway to being subjected to ambulance bouncing and then two hours of tests. Mulder isn't sure how long he has been here but since being wheeled out of the ambulance, he has been poked, prodded, questioned, drained of his blood and had lights shine into both eyes until he thought he would go blind. Right now, struggling with the left sock, he is absolutely exhausted. And filled with guilt that he did this to Scully when she was not having a good day; that is the worst of everything.

The curtain around the gurney opens, and Scully appears, holding a clipboard in her hand. She is nervous. Scully hasn't forgotten the look on his face when Bill dropped his little bomb.

"Good shopping, Scully," he says, trying to sound normal when he is feeling anything but normal. "That underwear you bought me is very roomy." He may have emotionally checked out but he is not going down without a smirk.

"I'll leave that joke to you." Scully drags a stool over to the bed and sits down across from him. It is a tight fit, their knees almost touching. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

She stares at him, tilting her head for a better look. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she still looks better than he does. "We're still waiting on a few more tests. The good news, Mulder, is that there's no sign of any unusual brain activity which means it probably wasn't a seizure."

"It felt like one."

She leans over and puts the clip chart on a side table. Carefully, she forms the words she hasn't had the nerve to say until medical tests have backed up her theory. "They think … there is a possibility this could have been an anxiety attack."

"Not this again,"

"Yes, this again. I thought it was a seizure when you were having it, but looking back, it also had all the signs of a panic attack. You've told me yourself you started having them."

He now wishes he hadn't opened his big mouth that day behind the gas station. He should have let her think the worst and cart him off to any hospital that would take him off her hands.

"Mulder, on paper, you're a prime candidate. Why you haven't had this sooner is a mystery except that you have always had a focus that's kept on the path you needed to be on. Now, maybe with my illness, you have been caught off guard."

He carefully ignores this last remark and finishes tying his shoes. "Let's get out of here."

She puts a hand to his shoulder before he can take another step. "Not yet."

The sigh. He could slip into anxiety mode again and scare the shit out of her. No, that would land him here forever.

"They said I can go, right?"

"Yes. They don't think you need to stay overnight. My mother is going to drive you home but I need to talk to you first."

He hasn't been driven home by anyone's mother since he was twelve. "I can grab a cab; tell her to take you home - now."

"I've tried. I think she thinks she needs to make up for Bill."

"Well, she doesn't." He brushes past her and heads towards the door.

"Mulder, wait," she calls after him.

"For what? I'm a basket case, you're going to San Diego - all is settled with the world."

She grabs him by the arm and pulls him back into the room with her usual surprising strength. "I want to talk to you about San Diego."

He folds his arms and leans back against the wall. "Are you going?"

"No. I thought about it but …. My home is here. My mother and I both need to be here. Bill was wrong to goad you like that."

"What about work? You still leaving next week?"

Her expression changes again. "I will stay at work on one condition. You continue to talk to someone. Dr. Kosseff or another doctor – and I will stay."

"That's not fair."

"No, it isn't. But none of this is fair, Mulder. Everything you've been through, I've been through – life isn't fair. I thought you had figured that out by now."

She knows this look on his face. Defensive pride trying to cover abject fear.

"I know what I'm asking is difficult, but so much of what's happened to you, this past week or twenty years – it all goes back to losing your sister. It doesn't matter if it was an alien abduction or a criminal abduction; this still happened to you, not just her. You're the one I'm worried about right now."

He clears his throat, several times, before he can speak with an even, steady voice that won't give him away. "And if I do this…" He folds both arms tightly and looks towards the floor. "You'll stay at work. With the X-files."

"For as long as I'm able."

He doesn't say anything. It should be a reasonable request and there is nothing untrue about what she has just said. He can hear people walking along the hallway and wonders why in the hell doesn't someone wander into the room and put them out of this misery.

His eyes finally find hers. "Do you _really_ want to leave?"

"No. " Her voice begins to tremble.

"Then why -"

"Because _I don't know what else to do."_

The words fly out as if they were jet propelled. They hang in the air, daring either of them to question their validity.

"You've talked about drawing lines, Mulder - I have to draw mine now, before it gets drawn for me. There are things I need to do – spend time with my family, my mother – brothers."

_You_, isn't said. He doesn't dare ask if it goes without saying.

"I need to know that everything I care about is not out of control."

He knows he is one of the messes that needs cleaning up if she is to see this through with the direction and control she is trying so desperately to create out of the chaos she's been given.

"I've – this weekend, seeing you so …. desperate. It scared me and even if my life weren't on this turn, I don't know how long I could stay without asking – _begging_ you to stop."

Nor does he need an explanation of how that verb, stop, would finish him forever. He wouldn't know where to go, what to do next. He would … stop.

"When you were dealing with Roche – I'd never seen you like that – you put so much on the line."

"I don't want to talk about that, Scully."

But suddenly, she does. She has wanted to ever since she left Mulder alone in the office that day. If she could have lashed out at him for everything back then, maybe the lost weekend he just had could have been prevented.

"You were so desperate and look what was almost lost. A little girl. Your career."

_His life_ she doesn't add. A suspension from work was bad enough. If anything had happened to that girl, he wouldn't have forgiven himself and she suspects that would have been the start of the end "You carry this with you and you always will and no matter how many people you try to save, you will not get the chance back to save Samantha."

"That's not fair, Scully, that isn't what my work has been about."

"No? Look at yourself, Mulder and think of what you've chosen to put yourself through. You'll never find her for all of that pain you've experienced. And no matter how many people you want to save in the future, none of them will be Samantha. And if you don't let her go, you will kill yourself whether you intend to or not."

Anybody looking at him at this moment would think he is about to physically explode and have body parts land on everything in this room. "That's crossing the line, Scully. Samantha isn't the reason for everything I do. You can't put that on an eight year old girl."

"And what about what you're doing?"

"Don't go there, Scully.

"I've watched you for four years –I've watched you check out and go on automatic pilot and you run and you run and you … you can't keep going this way."

_Why not; it's worked for 25 _years, he thinks

"Why do you want to get those memories back? Just tell me that, Mulder. "

"Why do you think?"

Neither of them realizes how loud they have been arguing until the door opens and an intern carefully pops his head in the doorway. "Everything okay, folks?"

They haven't realized how loud they had been arguing. At least half of the hallway now knew what stubborn bastards they can be.

Embarrassed, Scully doesn't look at Mulder. "Yes – sorry for the..."

The door closes before she can get the last word out.

"Scully, I don't want to argue about this now. Or here." Or _ever,_ but he is skating on very thin, desperate ice as it is.

Scully steps closer to him. She has recklessness written wildly across her face. "What do you think you'll get from those memories? Do you think you can see what happened so that you'll know what you _could_ have done?" She knows she has hit a nerve by the look on his face. "You were a twelve year-old boy, Mulder. You can't place that kind of pressure on him any more than you would any other twelve year-old boy or an eight year old girl."

There is a soft knock on the door, before the door slowly opens. Mrs. Scully appears with caution. "Are you two about ready to go?"

They couldn't look less ready. His back is glued to the wall; his arms are folded well into his body. She is across the room with that look her mother knows so well.

"Mom, you should go ahead. I'll taxi home a bit later. We still need to talk."

"I really wish you'd go someplace else to talk, Dana. Preferably one with less germs. I'll go home, your brother's going to meet me there. I'll drop you two off at your place on the way."

Mulder undoes his arms and finds a smile for Mrs. Scully. "I'm going to grab a cab, Mrs. Scully. Just get Dana home, she shouldn't be here. Sorry for all the trouble."

He leans down and gives Mrs. Scully a hug. He hangs on a moment longer than he means to. He has needed this more than he thinks.

On his way out the door, he catches Scully's eye and tells her he will call her tonight. He knows he won't, though. Right now, he doesn't think he could say a civil word to her.

The ringing phone yanks Mulder awake from the deep sleep he fell into hours ago. He reaches for the phone and growls, "_Mulder_," into the receiver.

"Fox, it's Maggie Scully."

His heart stops. He rolls over and props himself up on his elbow. He clears his throat but it doesn't help much.

"I'm sorry, you sound like you were sleeping."

"Yes – no -" He looks at time. Seven pm. Mulder has been asleep for two hours; it feels twenty. "That's okay. Is Sc – Dana all right?"

"She's fine – I just wanted to let you know she is spending the night at my house – in case you needed to get a hold of her."

"Thanks – yeah. She's okay, though? She shouldn't have gone to the hospital with me."

"We told her that but do you think that's going to stop her where any of us is concerned?"

He smiles. Not a chance in hell.

"Dana's going to have a quiet evening in. Bill and I are just about to go visit some friends."

It takes him a moment to figure out the message she is trying to give him. _My daughter is awake, alert and alone in my house if you want to settle whatever it was I interrupted this afternoon._

"Oh." He sits up and pats the top of his head. His hair is scattered in its usual bed-head routine. "Thank you, Mrs. Scully. That's good to know."

He crawls out of bed and checks the mirror. He's still wearing the same clothes he had on when he made his fateful tumble in Scully's hallway.

"You look like shit," he mumbles to the mirror.

_So do you_, he half expects the mirror to snap back.

**END OF CHAPTER 8**


	9. DEMONS - Afterwards CH 9

**CHAPTER 9 **

She has spent the last forty minutes at the dining room table, going through old medical magazines her mother had kept for her in the basement. Either the glare of the shiny pages, or the toll of the day has caught up to her and she feels like crap. The knock at her mother's front door does not help. It is so faint, Scully almost misses it. It takes several tries before she decides to see if anybody is actually there.

Her mother's door does not have a peephole – every door on the planet should have a peephole she decided long ago. She opens the door and pokes her head around.

"Mulder?" She steps back as if she needs a better look to know it is really him. "What's wrong?

"Nothing's wrong," he laughs quietly at the same reaction he had when he heard her mother on the other end of the phone.

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking like a scuzzy door-to-door salesman on your mother's front porch for all the neighbours to wonder about." He half expects her to slam the door on his face given their last words together in the hospital.

She stares at him for a moment before taking the hint. "Oh." She stands back and waves him in. "Sorry, come in."

Slowly, he walks into the foyer. He waits until she has closed the door behind them and then follows her into the living room.

"Nice place," he says looking around, feeling as awkward as he possibly could.

"You've been here before."

They stand there for a moment, looking like two strangers in a bus stop. "Well – do you want some coffee?"

He wordlessly follows her through the living room into the dining room, observing the medical and science magazines, in specific piles as only Scully could make.

"Scrap-booking?"

She pauses long enough to throw a look over his shoulder. Scully is not the scrap-booking type. "Looking for some information."

"On what?"

She doesn't answer.

"Everybody out?" he asks casually. She'll figure the ruse out sooner or later so he doesn't bother worrying about it.

"Yes." She reaches for a glass and pulls a container of water from the fridge.

He nods towards her bathrobe. It is the same white, oversized terry cloth she normally wears at home. He has only seen it on a few occasions but he knows it is her all over. "You keep one here too."

"It's my mother's."

"Oh." Mulder glances around the kitchen. "Did you ever live here?"

"No. I'd moved out by time they bought this house." She puts a glass of cold water down on the kitchen table and points towards a chair. "Sit."

He does as he is told.

She sits down across from him and says, "What are you doing here, Mulder?" as plainly as she can. It's not impatience with him that's closing in on her, it is the fear that her mother and brother will walk in, and yet another moment to clear the air with this man will be taken away. They are both so close to quitting; turning and running for the silent hills in different directions as fast as they can.

"I'll do what you want," Mulder finally says. "You don't need to stay at work for my sake."

She folds her arms on the table and tries not to show too much relief. "You'll talk to someone about you? Not about Samantha, not about me – about you."

"Scully-"

Her eyes meet his, panic for panic. "Mulder, please trust my instincts. Trust that I can see what you can't because you have been so ensconced in the middle of this ordeal for so much of your life. So much of what you do is in search of the truth - your truth, sometimes others'. But you need to go back and work through what happened to you then."

"What the hell do you think last weekend was about?"

"You tried to have specific memories delivered to you on a plate. Memories that were all about Samantha. All of the dangerous things you've done, that have almost killed you, almost killed me – " Scully picks at the white table top with her index finger.

"I still need to know what happened."

"Why? What will it change about anything that happened all those years ago?"

"It just ... I don't know." His arguments are crumbling. For the first time since that November night in 1973, he realizes he doesn't know. Even if he found the memories and found what he didn't do right to save his sister, it won't bring her back. It literally was not going to bring her back. And for some reason, after all these years, this is hitting him now.

"Mulder…"

"I don't know anything anymore Scully. Not from then, not now."

"Then talk to someone. Your sister disappeared. That's all anyone needs to know. The rest is about you getting some closure and you aren't going to do that if you don't stop looking for her."

There is a bottle of aspirin on the counter. Scully reaches back for the bottle, and the glass of water she was about to drink. She knows he is watching carefully, looking for any signs of weakness from her but she is tired, too tired to care right now.

"You don't feel well?"

"It's just a headache. Please stop looking at me like that."

He stops. There is a single drop from the kitchen tap which keeps falling, one after another. To Scully, it sounds like gunfire; to Mulder, it is the reminder that time is running out.

"I will do what you want," he finally tells her. "On one condition."

"No more conditions, Mulder."

"Except for when you make them?"

Scully looks down at the table. Nailed. "Fine," she sighs and meets his eyes again. "What is it?"

Mulder sits back and inadvertently sighs. His shoulder's become unclenched and he leans back, as if this is where the air has finally rested. "I want you to - I _need_ you to tell me when you have appointments; either you let me take you to them, or pick you up, or wait with you. If I ask you how you're feeling, you tell me the truth. I won't overreact, or lock you in your room; I just want to know how you are feeling, good or bad. And for crissakes, Scully, when you have a nosebleed, don't try and hide it from me. I know when they happen."

There is silence as she absorbs these conditions. He might as well ask her to sing naked in front of a wrestling crowd of drunken convicts. No, wait, that would be easier.

"I'm not very …. " She searches for the right word, if any exists. "Comfortable doing that."

"You think I want to spill my guts to some stranger about my sister –" he catches her look. "About _myself_? What happens if you do let someone help? I'd think any less of you? Your mother or brother would? That we'd all huddle around the bed and say, 'Oh poor Scully, helpless thing'?"

This at least gets a slightly embarrassed smile out of her. "No."

"Then do it. If not for you, do it for your mother. She needs to know you're not shutting everyone out. And she needs to know she can ask me to get involved without going behind your back."

"Is that what got you here tonight?"

Looking back, he could swear Mrs. Scully's voice was quieter than usual. She had been reduced to covert phone calls in her own home. "Something like that."

Scully remembers catching her mother ending a phone call with, "_I just thought you might want to know,"_ and thinking her mother was being keeping her voice low for Scully's sake. "….I can't ….ask her how she…."

"How she's coping?"

Tears are swimming in the corner of her eyes and she begins scratching a stain on the table. "Yes."

For the first time since he heard her news, Mulder feels a glimmer of hope. He can be useful. He can slip between both Scully women and connect the dots where the sentences have fallen apart.

"She's scared, Scully, but she's like you. She's not going to show you anything she thinks you don't want to see."

"She talks to you?"

"Just little bits here and there. I'm glad your brother is here, so she has someone she can really talk to."

"He's leaving in a few days." She reaches into her pocket for one of the endless tissues she keeps on hand, to blow her nose

Mulder's smile turns into a relieved laugh. "Then she's got _me_." He saves the best til last "Whether you approve or not."

"I didn't say I didn't approve."

"No. You didn't." He puts his hands on the table as if to push himself back. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to come over here and tire you out."

"I feel like I've been tired for the last year." She stares at her fingers for a moment. Then her head pops up again. As if the doctor is on auto pilot, she says, "I haven't asked how you're feeling."

"I'm fine."

"Good."

"Okay. Well, I should let you get back to your …magazines."

She glances over her shoulder as if she doesn't want to offend the magazines. "I shouldn't be going through all of those at once. You begin to read _too_ much."

"Well, you know what Doctor Zaius said…" With that in-joke bringing a hint of a smile to her face, he stands up.

Mulder gets as far as the front door. He can hear her following, her slippers making puffy landing noises behind him. His hand is on the handle but he doesn't open it. He turns around, suddenly anxious. "Scully, let's get out of here."

She tightens her bathrobe and looks around. "_Now_?"

"No, not …." He gestures towards the door. "There. Somewhere. I can take time off work or -" While he is grasping at straws to come up with ideas, she is looking at him as if he has offered to rob a bank. "And I'd last longer than a day." This obvious myth aside, he continues. "We could go for a road trip. Just drive until something interesting pops up. No cases, just …. nothing."

Nothing. It sounds amazing. It is simple and it is easy and it is all she wants to feel.

"Mulder…"

"No, I'm serious. We hit the road, stop where we want, we won't have to do expenses, we can get a room-" He stops. "That's not what I meant," he catches before this goes too far. "I just mean… we spend some time together. Maybe talk about the weather for forty-eight hours. You said it yourself, you could use a break."

"We can't, Mulder," she says, putting her hand on his arm, trying to stop the fantasy before it breaks both of their hearts.

"Why?"

"Because that's what couples do, not partners."

It is the first time either of them has even come close to making a reference to such a personal relationship.

"Friends do that sort of thing." he corrects pointedly.

"Not when one of them is sick. More to the point, you and I can't run away from our problems because they will still be here when we get back. Nothing will change."

"Maybe we will."

He is looking straight at her, his eyes taking in every reaction. His insight has always caught her off guard. His words can scare her. She can either read too much into them or nothing at all.

"Can I take a rain check? Let's wait until I've seen one too many hospital rooms and then you come and spring me and we'll take the road trip and talk about the weather."

_And maybe get a hotel room,_ she wants to add. But she doesn't allow herself to think about missed possibilities with Mulder because it will become one more loss she will have to grieve for.

Mrs. Scully returns home by taxi – she has left the car with Bill who has run into more friends. She stands at the curb and looks at her house. It is a clear night and the lights are reflecting off the trees onto the roof. She has lived here for almost fifteen years. It has been both a prison and a sanctuary through two losses in this family. A third is hovering too closely and she wonders how she will survive if it happens.

A lid to one of her garbage tins has blown away from the others. She fits the rubber lid onto the rubber bin and turns to use the back door.

But she stops.

Dana and Fox are on the back porch, sitting on the old garden swing. Even from here, she can hear the familiar squeak as it floats back and forth.

Mulder's arm is around Scully's shoulder; her head is leaning against his shoulder in the way Mrs. Scully has not seen Dana sit with any other man in her life. He is smiling, telling her something that is close to making her smile. In her lap, and in the hand Mulder has around her shoulder, are crumpled, red tissues.

Mrs. Scully meant it when she said she would be there for him. Fox Mulder isn't her first choice for a son-in-law, but he is as close as Mrs. Scully will ever have; she resigned herself to this fact a long time ago. Her first choice would have a stable, safe job and he would not be driven only by this job. He would lead a safe, comfortable life and know what it is like to enjoy friends, start a family, be happy.

And he would love her daughter as if she were the only woman on earth. Mulder falls into this category, whether he will admit it or not. Right now, watching the care on his face as he holds onto Dana, she thinks this might be enough to get them through.

The longer their relationship has continued, the more she has seen Dana become attached to Mulder, to his work, and to his life. Was Mulder as devoted to her world? Mrs. Scully could only hope so. As Bill had said repeatedly, for all the devotion Dana showed Mulder, he had better be worth it. She thought he was. Mrs. Scully hoped so; they would have a long journey together.

She turns and slowly ambles back down the driveway. She will leave them alone for a little longer. The crisp leaves on the trees are brushing each other before winter separates them for good. It is a silent kind of evening and a taking some time for a little walk do them all some good.

**END **

10


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